#on impact there should be enough gap in the middle of the palm for an air pocket

[min-play]

clapping really loud but can only do it once

[dabisbratz]

PLAY DATE (CHERRY)— aizawa shouta x male reader

wc: ~6.5k

cw: dilf!aizawa, babysitter!reader, sexual tension, slow burn, spanking/impact play, finger-sucking, d/s undertones, daddy kink, praise, manhandling, age gap (21 yr old reader, 41 yr old aizawa), porn with plot, size difference/kink, spit/drool, degradation, rimming, hand holding, full nelson, creampie, breeding kink, light feminization

a/n: yes i was listenin to lana while writin this! howd u know?!

The click of a mouse. The sound of a scroll wheel grinding against plastic— rubbery and restricted. A family of five, four, three..family oriented individuals with more kids on their hands than time. It was late, even for you. Who scoured the internet until the sky’s inky black atmosphere was painted a pacific blue. From there, you’d tend to sleep into the late hours of the evening, beneath the comfort of a heavy weighted blanket, until your phone went off or a nightmare pulled you from your slumber.

Your dry, tired eyes trace the blurry words of your computer screen, the bright white light beaming through the depths of your continuously darkening bedroom. The room is almost radio silent— save for the occasional crunching of chips between your teeth and the fan of your laptop working overtime. The text is almost hard to read, shying away behind a hazy glare.

‘One kid—6 year old girl. One pet— black bombay cat.’

Sounds promising. The letters are arranged in a blunt manner, straight to the point and even somewhat intimidating, but the clear boundaries and requirements listed are fair enough.. Maybe even tilted in your favor. Your cursor wanders, ready to further inspect the profile presumed to belong to the parent who created the listing.

Shouta Aizawa, a middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard, long hair to match, and a distinctive scar below his eye— which looks milky and clear. The other, however, is a deep pool of brown, warm like melted chocolate. His irises melt into his long lashes, which remain straight and strict, much like the demeanor he emits in the headshot photo. It must be reminiscent of his ID, as his career is listed just below his picture.

Owner of Eraserhead Industries.

Huh.

Chewing the fleshy insides of your cheeks, your eyes dart across the screen, hesitantly inching the cursor over the bright, bolded ‘message’ button. Sparks ignite in your stomach, blooming in the expanse of your tummy as you type out,

‘When can I start?’

You hear yourself squeal, pushing away your mouse with your fingertips and hiding behind the warmth of your palms before your computer chimes in response. The message stares back at you, perforating into you as you read it over and over, trying to imagine how this—practicably— rich man would sound. You settle for a deep voice, giggling to yourself as you read out the message.

‘The sooner the better.’

The man is much scarier in person, and your imitation of his voice was nowhere near accurate.

His voice is much deeper than you thought, gravelly and not nearly as riddled with giggles like you’d tacked on. In fact, it only seems to deepen as he nurses a mug of black coffee, just one large hand completely shielding the cup in its entirety. He’d ordered it, busying himself with the sheets of paper he had placed upon the polished table as you explained just how much whipped cream you’d wanted in your milkshake to the waitress.

He takes up most of the space on his side of the booth in the homely café, his layers discarded and shed along the plush seating. The man with dark eyes, Shouta Aizawa, is a natural born leader. The physical embodiment of sticks and stones, seemingly stronger than Zeus himself, he seems to have no faults.

But that’s not what you should be focusing on, not now, when you’re preoccupied with narrowed, umber eyes. They look at you with nothing but impenetrable suspicion, remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who looks incredibly angelic. Tufts of frosty hair, unruly and disheveled and divine. The sun dawns down on Musutafu, framing his locks in a makeshift halo. He looks like a fallen angel, of sorts.

“I don’t trust my kids with other kids,” He says, watching the dark amalgamation of caffeine swirl in his porcelain cup. Does he consider his cat to be his kid, too? “How old are you?”

You perk up, straightening your back as you push your straw in and out of your sickeningly sweet milkshake. Whipped cream clings to the plastic, sticky and bubbly with foam, “Twenty-one, sir.”

Aizawa makes a face at that, steely eyes drooping further with the pinch of his dark eyebrows. They slot perfectly, intricate wrinkles firming between them. Did you… fuck it up? You’d consider yourself an adult— comparable to law, anyway. And you can be mature, especially when it counts, so there shouldn’t really be a problem!

It’s evident he loves his kids, despite the hard exterior that he’s showing off there’s a fatherly glint to his eye. A protective overlay to his words. It’s admirable, if anything. You’d even call it charming, the way his eyes bore into you from the outside-in and pick you apart, if it wasn’t so damn scary being on the receiving end.

“Do you drink?”

“…No?”

“Do you plan to?”

More of an interrogation than anything, you take an awfully long time to reply as you use his suspension as an opportunity to savor your milkshake.

“No.”

You make sure to sound more confident this time.

His questions have been asked before, over text and in a manner not as… blunt as you hear it now. But it’s all down to perception, and you’d managed to wrongfully pin Shouta Aizawa as a care-free, laid back guy. Though, from the looks of it, he seems to live up to the ladder. And, upon closer inspection, it does nothing to tarnish his looks.

“Mm,” Is all he says, humming in acknowledgment as a check is placed his way. “You’re young.”

“Young enough to be your son?” You ask, mouth faster than your brain, and suddenly you can’t stop. Your lips curl upward, a smile gracing your lips as you giggle, “People probably think you’re my sugar daddy or somethin’.”

He doesn’t seem to completely respond to that, letting the comment fly into the air as he shifts. Heat somersaults into your face, heating your body up until you find yourself unable to hold eye contact. Nice going.

You wrap your lips around the plump cherry slowly sinking into your drink, twirling the stem between your teeth. It explodes in your mouth, sharp and sweet along the expanse of your tongue, a nice distraction.

Something alien flickers behind his eyes, “Tech savvy?”

“I— Yeah! I play video games,” You almost forget this is an interview, not a date. The thought makes your brain a little fuzzy, cotton forming in your mouth as you stumble over your answer. “Not— Y'know, never on the clock.”

Shouta looks much more vulnerable with his head turned, his veiny hand reaching into the pocket of his inky pants, pulling out an equally dark credit card. No way. His handwriting is illegible, but the swooning waitress deems it acceptable, thanking him for the tip with a high blush on her cheeks. There isn’t a single ring on his calloused fingers, so it’s almost shocking he doesn’t jump at the opportunity

“Good. Eri likes games.” It’s the most praise you’ve heard all night, and hearing it from the deep rumble of his throat makes it even better. Your gaze must linger, because his dark eyes are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.

“Eri? Your daughter?”

“I don’t like sharing personal information online.”

You laugh nervously, filling your mouth with the melting drink before he can comment.

“I—Woah, sir… your home is… beautiful.” It’s not just flattery, you genuinely, sincerely mean it. You’ve seen it before, sure, through text and under much more professional scrutiny, but the camera doesn’t do it justice. His house aches with love, wrapped up in kisses and enveloped in a sweet, cinnamon-scented embrace.

There’s a heavy amount of childish memorabilia, like crayon drawings hung up on his stainless steel fridge, miscellaneous toys littering the floor, and a pair of tiny shoes resting next to your own. They look comically small, glittery and pink and utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a six year old girl. Especially in comparison to the sleek, black sneakers Shouta slips off next to them. Utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a forty-one year old man.

Aizawa makes his way through the living room while you marvel in astonishment, taking in the sights of his house. Surprisingly, despite his not-so-settle display of wealth, his home is the opposite. It’s the real thing, with lived-in floors and comfy furniture..lively and bright. Sure, his sofa is a muted gray, but the portraits and polaroids and children’s drawings make up for it.

You follow along, nearly tripping over some misplaced barbies and action figures as you quickly remove your shoes and stumble forward. Like a newborn fawn, unfamiliar to its own legs, you walk forward with a bashful smile.

It was almost easy for you to forget that he’s human, and not some strong-willed work-machine designed to finish tasks and take care of children.

But the way his joints pop when he shifts a certain way, the way sweat trickles down his forehead after a long day of working in a stuffy office, proves otherwise. It was then, you realize, that he is all flesh and bones. Not pen ink or an indestructible force.

“Eri’s… picky. Try exposing her to different foods every now and then, there’s a list of recipes she likes on the fridge.”

Shouta’s leaning against the marble of his open-island kitchen, socked feet melting into the cold tile. You half-expected his socks to be just as dark as his clothes, so it’s a pleasant surprise to see cartoonish cat faces littering the fabric.

Right—anyway. You nod, though it’s mainly reserved for yourself, as your eyes rake up the words stuck to his fridge. Freshly printed out, not an inch out of place, you wonder how many times he’s done this. The gears turn in your head, clicking and grinding until your lips part, a breathless expression keyed into your facial features. Wait.

“Does that mean—”

“I’ll text you the extra details. Eri’s bedroom is upstairs, but you should wait for her to show it to you when she’s ready.”

Your apartment is a flimsy excuse of a home, nowhere near as intricate and thoroughly loved as Shouta’s. Walking inside, you realize just that, there isn’t even a hint of glitter or gleam as you walk through the front door. Even though you have yet to meet her, Eri’s already brightened up your life. Your walls scream with loneliness, the sound bouncing off each corner until you’re tucking yourself into bed and curling up beneath the sheets.

And though you barely know him, you can’t help but want to follow the childish urge to open up the website you found Aizawa’s listing on to study his headshot.

Eri, you’ve come to learn, is a very smart kid. Perhaps too smart for her own good, too observant, and way too excited to express said observations. You sit taut on the gray sofa, leaning over a sheet of paper as you carefully color between the lines of the thick, inky, coloringbook outline. But Eri’s got her own leaflet, vigorously coloring something she has yet to allow you to look at.

You haven’t known her long enough for the leaves to brown, to fall off and make room for winter. You haven’t known her long enough to see the leaves return, the chilly air slowly descending into something softer, quieter. Warmer with summer’s welcome. But she grew to accept you rather quickly.

It started soon after your first meeting with Aizawa, and to your dismay, you hadn’t really seen much of him after that. Only small traces and fragments, like the religious filling of Present Meow’s food bowl or notes tacked onto the fridge.

Admittedly, you kinda miss him.

You’ve become quite engrossed in Eri’s choice in television, watching the cartoon with just as much excitement as the six your old. It even makes you laugh, hearty and dinkum.

“How do you feel about niku-dofu for dinner tonight, Er-bear?” She barely moves, her tongue held between the corner of her lips as she furrows her brows in concentration. Whatever she’s coloring is much more important than dinner, apparently.

With outstretched limbs, you stand, reaching for the sky as a yawn is pulled from your chest and your eyes grow heavy. Being dragged along by a six year old all day is exhausting. The hairstyling, the nail-painting, the hero-pretending…the dolls.

(Eri quite enjoyed acting out soap-opera levels of dramatic scenes with dolls. And, of course, you could only be the man in these scenarios.)

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve grown attached in the span of a few weeks.

“I’ll take that as a yes then!” You chirp, setting down your finished page with a sense of pride. Might even have to add a signature to it!

With Eri’s toys scattered along the floor, despite your constant advisory to clean them up, walking through the house has become quite the challenge. An obstacle course of sorts that Aizawa must’ve been a master at getting through.

Aizawa… With dark circles that cast shadows down his mature face. With stubble that’s cleanly shaved, not a single hair out of place.

Aizawa…With his long, dark hair that frames his face with thick bundles.

Aizawa… Who almost constantly looks disgruntled, faintly pink lips pulled into a tight line.

Him and his signature crisp, black button up that barely fights against his large chest and his matching pants that cling to his stupidly strong thighs.

It makes your brain a little fuzzy, the thought of his equally large biceps bulging in his shirt as he crosses his arms and stares down at you through the bridge of his nose. And his eyes— piercing and domineering staring straight into yours, lips curled as he berates you like some sort of misbehaving child.

(Which you’d spent a lot of time arguing with him about through sticky-notes…The fridge is powered evidence, covered in neon paper as you remind him you’re ‘not a kid!’ beneath his ‘not bad, kid’ post-it note.)

“Hey? Are you okay?” Eri’s small voice snaps you out of your haze, wide and virtuous red eyes blinking up at you. Clutching her drawing to her chest, she shifts her weight between each leg. Her small smile is gone, so you do your best to conjure up a frolicsome grin.

“Never felt better! Finally ready to show me what you’re working on?”

“Mhm,” She hums, reminiscent of her father.

Eri’s picture is nothing short of sweet. Advanced for her age, she’s drawn three figures that resemble the three of you— herself, Aizawa, you— sitting happily at the generously furnished dining table. On her lap sits Present Meow, a black ball of crayon-esque fur, who has small, wobbly hearts above his head. You all do, actually, some bigger than others (e.i: you quite literally have heart eyes that take up more than half your crayon face), but big nonetheless.

Is your crush on her father really that obvious?

“Oh, Eri, that’s—”

The front door trembles, the doorknob clicking and jingling as it welcomes silver keys. Before your eyes, Shouta’s welcoming himself in, strong right arm pushing the door open. His shoulders are draped in exhaustion, his gray scarf tangled around his neck as he shuts the door behind him.

Embarrassment wells up in your stomach, overflowing until you’re hiding Eri’s drawing behind your back. He doesn’t typically come home this early. Usually within the late hours of the night, into early morning, he can be seen rummaging through the fridge for a drink until he heads upstairs, straight to bed.

Instead, he’s stalking forward.

Did his steps always shake the house like this, or are you just imagining it? You must be, it must be your heart in your ears, because your face is flooding with warmth as he towers over you and peeks over your shoulder.

“What’s behind your back?” He lifts an inquisitive eyebrow, faintly smelling of cigarette smoke.

“What? Noth—”

“Look!” Eri snatches the drawing from your clammy hands and pushes it into Shouta’s abdomen. He hunches over, just slightly, before taking in the image.

“Jesus, kid,” He clicks his tongue with a tenderhearted sigh, looping his thumb around the waistband of his black slacks. “You’re somethin’ else...”

You’d have thought it was meant for Eri if his gaze didn’t flicker up to meet yours.

Dinner rolled around fast, and you’d found yourself nicking your finger on one of Shouta’s large, sharpened knives. Cutting up a small portion of potatoes shouldn’t have been so trivial, a pained gasp escaped your lips as you pinched the tiny wound. You wince, instinctively sucking on the skin of your mangled finger.

“I told you to be careful,” He took your hand in his, swallowing it whole with his palms, and went as far as to berate you, grumbling, “Watch yourself. Are you okay?”

Breathless as you watched him open a nearby drawer, he pulled out a kiddie bandaid, decorated with polka dots and even more cats. You held still, letting him wrap the bandage around your finger nice and tight. And then, only then, did he place a small kiss on top.

“There you go, all better.” It’s a passing comment, only pried from his lips because he was so used to saying it to Eri, and he didn’t seem to realize just how flustered it made you. So you coughed into your hand, secretly hoping the warmth permeating off his body would return to your skin.

Now, with dinner finished, Eri has no problem shoveling the food into her mouth. Must've been all the running around, gave her an appetite fit for a grown woman. It’s not like you have room to talk, you’ve almost choked on your side of miso soup a whopping three times. Shouta seems to be the only composed person at the table.

“You got a little,” Shouta points to the corner of his mouth, waving his willowy finger in a quick, circular motion. “Right…there.”

“Hm?” He watches your face contort, timid and self conscious. He can’t help but smile, just a small upward quirk to the corner of his lips, that slowly disappears as he leans in to wipe off a few grains of rice from the side of your mouth.

There he goes again, acting all domestic, as he raises the same finger to his own mouth. Your pupils blow wide, heat forming in your stomach as he sucks off the rice with disregard for how this might look to anyone besides a father.

Your eyes flicker to Eri, who’s too busy fighting off sleep with the handle of her silver spoon, her tiny head jerking and bobbing every so often, to notice the display.

“I guess—- guess it’s time for bed!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly loud as you stand, quick to stop in your tracks when Aizawa follows suit.

“I got it.”

Aizawa, you’ve learned, says that quite a lot. Despite his generous hourly pay and your obligation to take care of his child, he insists it’s best if he cleans after her. Too intimidated to argue, you simply nod, falling back onto his couch as he ventures back for forth— upstairs and back.

Each time he returns, he notices the droop in your eyes, the way they slowly fall with each step he takes. It’s late, he should be escorting you home, but he doesn’t want to disturb your well-earned sleep session.

As he sits to finally take a break, letting his joins snap and pop, you fall face-first into his shoulder, smashing your cheek against the firm skin.

Your lips pucker, pouty and almost fish-like. Your boyish face, soft and not yet worn down by the tiresome nature of time in itself, looks undeniably cute. Perfect for kissing and irrevocably inviting. Your eyes are shut, lashes resting against your cheeks. Time stops, minutes passing within hours, as Shouta takes in your essence and stares down at your innocent face. Stealing a kiss would just be… so…easy…

“Fix your face,” He says instead, clearing his throat and directing his gaze to the dimly lit, yellow-tinted lamp resting on the end table placed by his half of the sofa. “Or it’ll get stuck like that.”

“M’sorry.” You whisper, bashful as ever despite the slippery hands of sleep reaching back for you. Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?

It makes Aizawa want to retract his statement, press his thumb into the unobtrusive crease forming between your pretty eyebrows. But it leaves before it has time to arrive— to settle, as your body relaxes once more. He observes for a moment, the dip of the couch as you finally sink your weight into it, the debt collectors contracted with sleep finally having caught up with you.

Preserving himself through all these years, none being particularly good to him, he wonders if you’ve faced any similar endeavors. He’d hate to leave you alone, cold and barren as another side of his bed remains despicably untouched, only the ghost of what could have been keeping him company during this sleep-centric night. Your breaths are slow and steady, lips briefly parting to mumble something he can’t quite grasp. Shouta tries anyway, tucking his stubbly chin against his collarbone as he leans forward.

His face is dangerously close, a mere inch separating the gap between his lips and soft, supple skin. With your head nuzzled against his shoulder—broad and wide—your words dispel into the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Alongside a fine layer of drool, something he's all too used to, that slowly spreads the deeper you fall into undisturbed sleep. A heavy sleeper then, he presumes.

Shouta keeps you close, pressing your body against his as he loops his other arm behind your legs and hoists you up. He’s careful to avoid any furniture, holding you with an iron grip as he steps up the creaky stairs. His hair bounces with each step, curly and dark, flowing down his back and streaked with gray.

“..Zawa…” Nearly dropping you, his mismatched gaze locks onto your face. Blissed out and camouflaged with slumber, you stir in his arms. “Kiss me ‘lready.”

Aizawa clears his throat, neck constricting as it tightens around the air. It’s fine, just a baseless comment, he decides, as he slowly opens his bedroom door, careful of the noise. You don’t seem to move after that, dozing in his arms until he’s setting you down into his bed. He really hopes you don’t mind it— he doesn’t have a guest bedroom, after all.

It’s dark in his room, blackout curtains covering any sliver of radiance from outside streetlights. So he flicks on the lamp on his bedside table, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest as he lifts his arms overhead to remove his shirt. Something cold prods at his back, and before he can shed the clothing, Shouta redirects himself to look back at you.

Half asleep, your foot creeps under the comfortable fabric of his shirt. You must’ve discarded your socks in your sleep, because you’re rubbing your eyes with balled up fists as if you’d just woken up. Doesn’t stop you from speaking, vocal cords strained, “S’this the part where we cuddle?”

Aizawa watches you shimmy out of your pants, obviously groggy and irrational from having just opened your eyes, your warm skin slowly being exposed inch by inch. You must overheat in your sleep.

“No, it’s not,” He groans out, sucking in a sharp intake of air as he takes in the mural being painted in front of him. “Go back to sleep, kid.”

“Don’ wanna,” You mumble, much more awake as your eyes hone in on the skin of his back that he’s partially exposing. “And I’m not a kid.”

“Sound like one.” You hear him grovel under his breath, almost as if you were meant to hear it. Aizawa has quite the ability to be silent when he wants to, he can creep up on you without you ever noticing. So you suck your teeth, sitting up in his bed.

He expects you to respond with something witty, something he has to pretend he doesn’t find funny. But you don’t, instead staying uncharacteristically silent. Had it not been the dip in his mattress, he would have assumed you dissolved into thin air.

God, how you hope he won’t find you childish for this.

“Sir, I,” Shouta stiffens, his hair falling from behind his ear as he turns to fully face you. “Can I kiss you?”

“Can you..” He trails off, watching your bottom lip jut out. Plump and shiny, Aizawa resists the urge to sink his teeth into it. How soft would they feel? Would you cry into his mouth if he bit too hard? Anything in his hands becomes fragile, and he wants to know how far you can bend before you break. “Can you kiss me?”

He doesn’t give you time to respond, grabbing your ankle with his rough hands to drag you down into him. Your pretty eyes widen, large and unsuspecting as he crashes his lips against yours, feverish and desperate.

His tongue swipes over your lower lip and eagerly awaits yours, tasting faintly of cigarette smoke and cinnamon. Undeniably Shouta, you can’t help but whimper into his mouth, tangling your fingers into his disheveled hair. His mouth is warm and wet— almost searing hot, and you can’t help but choke on your own breaths. You sink into the kiss, floaty and dumbstruck by his urgency.

Like a starved man, he pushes you down on your back and tangles his big hands in the waistline of your boxers, tugging the elastic apart until it rips with a ‘snap!’. You’re exposed, legs instinctively closing to shield your half naked body.

“Aht-aht. Sit still,” Aizawa hand quickly latches around the base of your dick, sending shocks of electricity up your smaller (in comparison to his) body. You tug on his wrist, eyes burning with unshed tears as he stares down at you, predatory and famished. “When’s the last time you played with this pretty cock? Did you think of me?”

He doesn’t give you time to speak, instead spitting down onto your cock with a thick, shiny glob of spit. You can’t help but moan, watching it slide down and heat up through his fingers. His hand envelops you entirely, big and warm and squelching as he accentuates his words with particularly sharp pumps.

“Oh, sweetheart,” His voice sounds condescending and feignedly sweet, you swear you could cum just from hearing it. “S’been a while, huh? Yeah? S’why you’re leaking all over my hand?”

You feel yourself nod, quick and enthusiastic as you melt into his palm. Your legs turn into jello, numb against his warm sheets, as your toes curl and your back slowly inches off the mattress. Shouta’s eyes are lidded and heavy, drinking you in and burning you from the inside out. You keen, pulsating in his hand until the warmth is suddenly gone, and you’re blinking away frustrated tears.

“No—!”

“Greedy brat,” Shouta’s quick to shut you up, large hands sinking into the plush skin of your thighs as he spreads your legs open impossibly wide. “Fuck, got a greedy hole on you too.”

Your hole clenches in response, eager to have his attention. You can feel a trail of precum and spit soaking the area, warm and wet, not yet reminiscent of his cum. Soon enough, you hope, he’ll be filling you to the brim and then some. Your hands, somehow forgotten, scramble to unbutton his dress shirt.

Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you gasp in retaliation to his big hand clutching your jaw with indescribable force and pressure. Trying to leave finger-shaped bruises. Your lips part, tongue pushed free from your squished cheeks as you blink up at him, eyes dancing between one milky-white iris and another, only chocolate brown.

“Go on, say it. Tell Daddy you’re a greedy boy with a greedy little hole,” He’s spitting into your mouth, a thin trail of saliva indirectly connecting his tongue to yours. “You can do it, sugar.”

Oh. Oxygen disconnects from your lungs, dumbly blinking up at him with a garbled moan. You can’t speak if you wanted to, not with his hand around your jaw like this, so you settle for swallowing down his spit with a feeble smile. All you can push out is a mangled ‘Daddy!’ but Aizawa seems to take that for an answer, groaning as he hikes your knees up to your chest, sighing when you squeal in response.

His big, warm body is pressed up against yours, much bigger and stronger, and it’s apparent in every movement he makes. He’s able to push you around, flip you over and push you down with barely a finger, and you’re sure his hand can cover the entirety of your face. You moan, wanton and sweet in his ears as he maneuvers your arms to keep your legs up.

“Gonna take real good care of you,” Shouta— Daddy sighs, hunched over and breathing dangerously close to your entrance. Almost like he’s talking to your hole instead of you, and you’d protest if it weren’t for the hot, wet stripe he’d just licked down from your perineum to your hole. Your body feels warm and tingly, legs twitching as his tongue prods and pokes deeper and deeper, slowly slipping inside. “Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

He’s sure to make it messy, adding generous amounts of drool and spit along your sensitive hole, eating you out like he gets paid to do it. He makes you lay there and take it, holding your legs open like some cheap whore, settling between your thighs with feverish and hungry kisses. Making out with your hole, you watch with heavy eyes and a gaped mouth.

“Yeah, yeah..” You moan subconsciously, a constant stream leaving your pretty, parted lips. He takes the opportunity to fill your mouth with his fingers, long and scarred as his fingertips run along your pink tongue. His fingers taste vaguely of salt, and you can’t help but suck on them, eyes fluttering in content.

You barely catch it, a small kiss being placed on the curve of your jaw until he’s freeing his fingers from your mouth. He resists the urge to shove them down your throat, watch your eyes get glassy and wet as you gag on his fingers like you would his cock.

“Gotta get this cunt nice n’ ready. Watch me eat you out, boy,” His voice has dropped several octaves—if that’s even possible—thick and heavy and reverberating straight into your hole. It’s like he knows you by heart, even if this is your first time together, because he’s slotting his thick, scarred fingers in along with his tongue. “Such a pretty hole. Matches your face.”

Through the haze you’re still able to mumble out a quiet, “Thank you,” timid, small, and broken up between moans.

“Good boy, still remembering your manners,” He sounds just as breathless as you, pressing his fingertips against the special spot inside of you. Your body jolts, a shriek ripping from your throat as he puts pressure on it, bullies it with his fingers, and follows suit with his tongue. Too much. “Shh, I know. Try to stay quiet for me.”

For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold. For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold.

You want to be good, be the best boy you can be, but you just can’t help it. The complete opposite of what he’s told you to do, high off his fingers as your body clenches and your moans grow louder and louder, fingernails digging into the soft surface of the back of your knees. He just presses and presses and—

Stops. Abrupt and fleeting until his hand is back, but instead in the form of a harsh slap right across the back of your thighs. Your sit spots.

“Wh- mm-mm…! Waitwait..Daddy—!” You’re stunned, stuttering and stumbling over your words as you fail to recollect what just happened. You press your face into your knees, bunched up tight as tears spring in your eyes. “That hu—urts.”

The pout in your voice is evident, and Shouta can’t help but coo. Especially when your cock, lodged right between the thickness of your thighs, jumps and leaks more precum. His own throbs in his pants, leaking into his underwear and leaving him sticky. God, he can’t wait to feel your hole twitch around his dick.

“You’re a big boy. I know you can take it, you said it yourself, didn’t you?” And there it is again, the fog that casts over your brain as you can only think of being good. Good for Shouta. Good for your Daddy.

There’s a sharp smack right on top of your little hole, the entrance winking back in retaliation as you sob into your knees. The pain doesn’t last long, simmers down and is easily replaced by heat when his fingers rub soothing circles around your rim.

“Daddy,” Your voice comes out much sweeter and wet, letting out a small sniffle as you peek out to watch him place open-mouthed kisses against your hole. “Want you.”

“You have me, boy,” His heart melts, and a soft smile creeps up on his handsome face. His tie dangles as he shifts his weight, opening his bedside drawer to pull out a condom and cherry flavored lube. Ironic. “Now let me in, wanna make your pretty fuckhole cream around my cock.”

“Wait,” You rasp, watching him tear open the packaging with his teeth. You’re still breathless and shaky, but you’re trying your best. “Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you inside me.”

Aizawa’s deep groans are music to your ears, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull when he frees himself of his shirt and sheds his pants. His dickprint is big and thick, throbbing in the fabric and sticky with fresh precum. You want to taste it. His cock springs free as his briefs drop to the floor, slapping against his abdomen and weeping.

You watch him fuck his fist, pouring the slick lube down his cock and warming it up with his palm.

“Yeah? You want it? Gonna listen to Daddy so he can put his thick cock in that sloppy little hole? C’mere before I shoot into my fist.”

You nod so hard it hurts, squeezing your shaft to stop yourself from cumming to his words alone. Your cock twitches in your hand, hard and wet as Shouta walks forward to meet you at the edge of the bed and scoops you up into his arms like you’re weightless. It must be easy for him, seeing as he’s so much bigger than you in every way.

“Won’t fit—”

“Shh,” Like he knows what you’re going to say before you can utter it, Shouta lifts you into the air with ease, and you can feel his cock pressing against your puckered hole. “We’ll make it fit.”

Your back presses against his chest, upright as he loops his arms around the backs of your knees. You’re spread wide, and with Shouta’s strong grip, all you can do is sit there and take it. You can feel him twitch and throb from the inside-out, his cock gushing pre as you sink down onto his cock. Your eyes roll back, wanton moans and a chant of ‘DaddyDaddyDaddy’ filling the air as snaps his hips, barely letting you adjust.

His dick is stretching you open, thick and long, and pulsing and veiny as you feel it bulge in your tummy, pushing past your rim and filling you up.

“Thought about this for weeks,” Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly you’re too far gone to answer. “I—yeah, should’ve fucked you in that café.”

From the… Start?

Heat pools on your stomach, his cock punching your insides and kissing each sensitive ridge with every movement he makes. Your moans are unintelligible, barely even coherent, as he fucks into you, lifting you off his cock again, and again, and again. Cock-drunk while his dick rearranges your guts, drool slips from your mouth and down your chest.

You look pathetic and ruined.

“So cute like this, pretty baby. You make the dumbest little faces when you’re fucked stupid on Daddy’s cock, but still so damn cute.”

His cock drags in and out of your plushy walls, precum and lube making a creamy concoction along his shaft with each thrust. Your face is stained with tears and drool, mouth open wide as you pant and whine.

The knot in your stomach tightens, your hole beating around his cock as Aizawa moans, and you feel your body go numb as you shudder and convulse. You’re cumming, and your smaller hands squeeze his big ones as he uses you like a fucktoy, bouncing off his lap with tiny, “Mm, mm, mm’s.” Your hole grips him like a vice, swallowing his cock deeper and deeper until you feel warmth flooding your stomach, your balls tightening by the second.

“Da—addy please, m’cummin’, m’cummin’!”

“There you go, smart little boy,” Shouta groans loud in your ear, twitching in your tummy when you clamp down on his dick. He wants to fuck his cum into you, you deserve it. You deserve his cock, you deserve his load, you deserve to be stuffed full until you’ve milked his dick for all he’s got— all it’s worth. “Just keep bouncin’, so fuckin good at it, gush on my cock. What d’you say, baby? What d’you say to Daddy?”

You wish you could see him, the grit of his teeth as his thrusts turn sloppy and messy. But you know he can see you, staring down at the cum painting your chest as it squirts out your cock in thick, rapid ropes. Mixing with your tears and drool, you know you look like sex on legs, eyes void of everything but the need for cock.

“Thankyouthankyouthank—fu-huck,” His cock is jackhammering so deep you can barely breathe. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“Gonna make you just like Daddy, gonna make you one too,” It must send him over the edge, the sounds of your hole squelching as he scrambles your insides, because he’s quick to shoot a creamy, hot load of cum straight inside you. “Wanna be a big boy so bad? Then—fuuuck— take it like one.”

He gives a few last slow, deep thrusts inside so his cum really takes, carefully freeing your legs as you collapse onto him with a breathy moan.

“‘Zawa…”

“C’mere, brat,” You’re quick to whine, weakly pressing your face into the expanse of his large chest, all tears and snot and cum as he cradles your head between his large hand and his even larger chest. You feel protected in his arms, shrinking even smaller into his lap as your eyes slip closed and his cum leaks down your thighs. “You’re a good boy. My good boy.”

Shouta’s hand is ablaze when he brushes it along your forehead, soon after replacing it with a gentle kiss. He means it.

“Let Daddy take care of you.”

[bonefall]

Hi! How would you draw a tool-evolved cat paw?

Aeons ago I wrote some speculative biology thoughts on what a tool-focused cat would begin to look like, and mentioned the way that a caw's paw might evolve. I can try to draw it out as a sketch; but fair warning that I put my art style points into cartoony anime stuff SO you're not gonna get a realistic drawing lmao

Evolution doesn't "think." It's many changes over generations that snowball into bigger ones. So I tried to look at WHAT exactly is happening between an animal with less sophisticated tool use (chimp) and one that COMPLETELY relies on tools (human) to predict where the cat's paw would end up in a few thousand generations.

Please note! My paw would still be a "link" between the ancestor, and something even more reliant on tool use. This proposed species would still be 100% capable of doing what the cats in-canon do, like hunt alone. It's for a feline species that is tool-ADAPTED, not tool-RELIANT.

(In that way, it's more comparable to, say, a lemur and a chimp. But lemur palm refs were hard to find and I did this quick because I've already thought about it.)

This paw would exist in-tandem with a "tool tooth;" A V-shaped gap in the jawline that a single fang would nestle into. Early tool-using felines would likely use their mouth to "break" or "shear" their crafts, leading to broken teeth that would make them less successful. So there would be a lot of evolutionary pressure to have better, stronger teeth.

Evolution doesn't do "one thing at a time," so if you happened to port yourself into a group of these cats and watch them craft stuff, you'd see them using their mouths as well as their paws!

Finger Size + Tool Claw

When you see real cats batting stuff around and manipulating things, and when you look at canon where they like to "hook things on a claw," it's usually the index "finger" they favor. In fact, they do a LOT of "poking," even when a cat bats at something they seem to mostly explore with the tip of their paw.

So I figure that would actually be a big difference between this species and humans.

Unlike us, who usually have our middle finger as the longest (though there are exceptions) so we can "stabilize" the things we grab, I'd give these guys a "Tool Claw" which is not involved in grappling at all. It's longer, more deeply grooved, but also more fragile than the "hunting" claws.

When at rest, the Tool Claw would stick out from the rest of the foot, straight upwards. The fur is able to "sheathe" the other three, but the index's would be too long to be fully hidden.

Because one of those fingers is now mostly taken out of combat, the pinkie would probably thicken up to compensate. Another difference from the human hand. I can imagine that if the trend continues, they might end up supporting their full frontal weight on the pinkie pad to free up the other fingers for tool use.

(But evolution's not always predictable! They might end up becoming more "back heavy" like raccoons, or rely on the invention of shoe/gloves, or just abandon silent hunting all together to become tool-reliant.)

Paw Pad Changes

Cats use the pads on their paws to move silently. As long as the species is relying on silently stalking prey, they will need to have these pads in contact with the ground to be good hunters.

So instead of the digital pads sliding down to create the "top" of the palm, I figured the metacarpal pad would split in two. So now there's a snug, dipped "shape" with which they could nestle an object into as they work with it, but also there is ALWAYS still pad in contact with the ground.

The amount of fur in-between the bottom (metacarpal) and top (supercarpal) pads probably just depends on culture and genetics. It wouldn't really have enough of an impact on the paw to be selected for to be furry or hairless.

I can imagine some groups being weird about it and thinking it should be shaved or braided or something, lmao. Or cats who live in muddy environments clipping it for hygiene reasons.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Choosing a Lover

@kakagaievents

Prompt: Royal Ball

Words: 2864

Music echoes through the hallway, calling for Kakashi to return to the hall where everyone is gathered. He could still hear all the guests laughing and chatting amongst each other. Guessing which lucky Prince or Princess would be chosen by Gai to marry him.

If only they knew the truth.

“Sir, we really should return,” he tried to argue, but Gai continued down the hallway unhindered, dragging him along behind him. “I know the party was boring, but-”

“Boring,” Gai grumbled, fingers digging into Kakashi’s wrist. “It wasn’t just boring. It’s a waste of time. I’m meant to sit there talking to people that I don’t want to talk to.”

“You love talking to people,” Kakashi interrupted. “In fact, I don’t think there’s a day that goes by where you don’t talk to someone new.”

Gai glared back at him but continued on his way. Even when faced with the reality of his own personality, and the strangeness of this whole situation, he refused to stop.“This is different. You know it is.”

“Because you’re expected to choose a spouse?”

“It’s not just that,” his grip loosened, freeing Kakashi from the pain of having Gai’s nails digging into his skin. “Father won’t listen. No one will. They don’t care that I don’t want to choose a spouse out of a room full of Princesses and Princes’ from other kingdoms. They won’t listen to me.”

“Well, how can they listen when what you say seems ridiculous?” Stopping in his tracks, Gai turned to face Kakashi. A hard, angry look in his eyes. “Am I wrong?”

“You know you are,” he released his hold on Kakashi’s arm and took a step forward. Closing the already small gap between them so that he was now standing nose to nose with Kakashi. “There is nothing ridiculous about my choice.”

“A prince, marrying a guard.” Kakashi couldn’t help but laugh at the thought even though he wished just as much as Gai that it could be different. It wasn’t possible, though. A Prince was destined to marry royalty. No matter how much he wanted things to be different, they couldn’t be. 

He could love Gai for the rest of his life, and he probably would. Those feelings would do nothing to change the reality that they were living in. A reality which demanded Gai choose a spouse who would help improve his kingdom’s defences and whom he could rule beside as equals. 

Raising a hand, Gai curled his middle finger towards his palm and placed his thumb over the tip. Only a seconds worth of warning, but it was enough for Kakashi to close his eyes and brace for the impact of Gai’s finger flicking against his forehead. “Ow.” 

“It wasn’t hard enough to hurt,” Gai scolded him with a light, friendly laugh. A sound that Kakashi had become rather addicted to over the years. It was always so pleasant to listen to and never failed to make his heart stop for just a moment, as if it was overwhelmed by the sweetness of that sound. “And I told you to stop saying crap like that. So what if the Prince wants to marry his handsome, dashing, courageous royal guard? What’s wrong with that?”

“Would you like the list alphabetically or numerically according to the law?” Another flick to the forehead, this time with a little bit more force. “Really, you’re being too stubborn,” he grumbled while rubbing a hand over the area Gai had struck. “Most people would trip over themselves to marry any of those people.”

“I am not most people.” no truer words had ever been said. There were a hundred things that Kakashi could think of that set Gai apart from ‘other people’. From the way he smiled so bright that he shone brighter than the sun itself, to his kind attitude towards every single person he met. Gai was certainly one of a kind, and someone out there had to be lucky enough to marry him. 

“In that case, do you have a reason as to why you won’t marry any of them?” Kakashi asked, raising a hand to silence Gai before he even opened his mouth. “Without mentioning me.”

Gai narrowed his eyes, but even with such restrictions he was not one to turn down a challenge, and that was exactly what Kakashi had just presented him with. A challenge to come up with a reason not to marry any of the people he had met today. 

“Let’s start off easy,” a smile stretched across Kakashi’s face, hidden by the mask he wore over the lower part of his face but still visible in the way his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Prince Obito comes from a wealthy, successful kingdom.”

Not even two seconds into the conversation and Gai was already rolling his eyes. “Prince Obito also has a preference for Princess Rin that everyone with working eyes can see, and even if he didn’t why would I marry someone who seems determined to pick a fight with my royal guard every chance he gets.”

“It was two arguments-” Kakashi began to argue, only to be cut off by yet another flick to the forehead. 

“Two arguments too many,” Gai insisted. “I do not wish to spend my life watching my spouse and my best friend arguing every time they are in the same room.”

Crossing that name off of the list, Kakashi moved onto the next one. “Princess Anko? She’s smart, has a high level of energy like you, and enjoys reptiles.”

“She enjoys snakes,” Gai clarified for him. “I enjoy Turtles and Tortoises. Her pets would eat mine.”

“I am certain that if the two of you were to marry we could find a safe place for her to keep all of her snakes, far away from Ninegame and all of the little turtles you keep in the garden.”

“I- she also has a fondness of poison that causes me to worry for my own safety when I’m around her.” 

That one Kakashi would give him. Although Princess Anko’s interest in poisons was different from others, leading her to seek out a way to become immune to all known poisons, it was still a dangerous interest. One that could easily result in Gai being the unwilling test subject to some interesting new antidotes she may decide to create. 

Another option crossed off of the shrinking list.

“Prince Asuma,” he continued, determined to find one that Gai could agree to. “He comes from a well off kingdom.”

“His Kingdom is at war almost all the time,” Gai argued. “If I marry him I am making an alliance with his father that would force me to send troops into any war between his kingdom and another. My people deserve better than that.”

A touching, well thought out reason to turn down a potential marriage candidate, though Kakashi had a feeling that Prince Asuma’s use of Tobacco which his kingdom received from overseas allies was something else that Gai would be unable to tolerate in a marriage. 

There was only one option left from the Princess and Princes that had already been introduced to Gai. Someone that Kakashi was certain Gai couldn’t find a single fault in no matter how hard he tried. 

Stepping around Gai, he leaned in close and whispered into his ear. “That leaves, Princess Rin!” He shouted her name and laughed when Gai jumped into the air. 

“Kakashi, don’t do that,” the prince glared at him while clutching a hand over his heart. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I think it would take a bit more to kill you than a little scare, sir,” he bowed his head in apology. “Princess Rin comes from a smaller kingdom. The alliance would do little to benefit our army, though you’ve made it clear you would rather avoid war at all costs.”

One of many beliefs that Kakashi shared with his prince, and which had helped him to fall in love with a man that he was never destined to have. 

“She’s smart,” he continued. “When the two of you spoke you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I was…” Gai grumbled. “But she’s not-”

“Not what?” Kakashi interrupted. “Not strong willed? I think you’d find yourself mistaken in that assumption if only you would watch her interact with anyone who attempts to speak down on her. Not interesting enough? Have you asked her about anything that interests you? I’m sure she would have something to say that would make you smile. Not-”

With every word he said Gai seemed to get more and more annoyed. At first it was just his eyebrows pinching together slightly, and then bit his bottom lip, as though he was attempting to hold his words back. Gai’s patience could only last so long, though, and before Kakashi could even think of another reason why Rin was a good match for the Prince, he found himself being drawn into a hug.

A bone crushing, breath destroying hug. 

“Gai,” he wheezed, gasping when the tight grip of Gai’s hug was loosened. He didn’t drop the hug, but he did allow Kakashi the opportunity to breathe properly which was still appreciated.

“She’s not- you,” he heard the words that Gai whispered, but he couldn’t believe them. Even when faced with what was essentially a perfect match for him, Gai was still clinging to something that they couldn’t have.

Something that Kakashi wanted just as much as him. Which his heart ached for, but which he could never have no matter how much he wanted it.

Yet, where Kakashi had admitted defeat and settled for a quiet, happy life standing at his lover’s side, Gai refused to give up. No matter how many times Kakashi, or anyone else, told him that it wasn’t possible he continued to hold on.

As if the sheer power of his will would change anything.

“She’s not me,” Kakashi found himself agreeing. “But that’s good.” Gai’s  head whipped back, wide terrified eyes staring at Kakashi as if he had just suggested starting a war with another kingdom.

“Good?” His voice cracked and all Kakashi could do was look away. Pretend that his heart wasn’t aching at the thought of watching the man he loved marry someone else. “Kakashi, there’s nothing good about marrying someone I don’t love.”

“It’s good,” Kakashi repeated, trying to convince himself just as much as Gai. “It’s…” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and straightened himself up before turning his gaze back onto Gai. “you’re a Prince. Prince’s marry royalty. I am not royalty.”

“No, you’re Kakashi,” Gai insisted, as if those words washed away any of the obstacles standing between them and a happy, married life. “You’re my Kakashi. Kind, strong, dedicated.”

“Your knight.”

“My Kakashi,” Gai spoke a little firmer, his hand coming up to rest against Kakashi’s neck. “The friend I grew up with. Who I raced around the garden’s with as a kid. Whose dog’s love to sleep on my lap.”

Such sweet compliments made Kakashi’s knees weak. Where anyone else would be glared at for daring to try and soften him with kind words, Gai always seemed to succeed. Even when Kakashi didn’t want him to. 

“Gai, I-” there were so many things he wanted to say. Law’s rolling around in his mind one after the other, begging to be listed out to Gai so that he could remember just why they couldn’t do what they wanted.

Why, no matter how much Kakashi wished he could join in on Gai’s optimism and stubbornness, he simply couldn’t. 

“”None of them are you, Kakashi,” Gai continued to insist, ignoring all logic in favour of emotions. “I just want you. Not some Prince with an army to back him up, or a Princess who can keep me entertained in conversation. I want Hatake Kakashi, the youngest knight to grace our kingdom. The boy who refused to see a Prince when we were younger, and instead chose to see a friend.”

Kakashi laughed at his own foolishness. As a child he had believed there was no difference between himself and Gai. He’d understood that Gai was a prince and that their destiny’s were already written out for them, but he’d allowed himself to entertain the thought of them being equals. 

A thought that had crumbled away from his mind the first time the king’s advisor’s pulled him aside and reminded him of his place, and of Gai’s need to marry royalty.

“I am Kakashi,” he spoke, unsure of his own words but determined to say them regardless. “I am your Kakashi. Your knight, who will protect you from anything and everyone. Just as I have sworn to do, but…”

His resolve crumbled in an instant. Not because of those sad, broken eyes staring deep into his soul, and not because of the desire deep inside of his heart to change everything and be the one to marry Gai.

It crumbled simply because he didn’t have the strength to continue fighting about something that he had no control over.

“I love you,” he whispered, speaking the same words he had dared to utter to Gai far too many times over the last five years. Always spoken in secret, shared just between the two of them. “You know I do, Gai.”

“I know,” a smile tugged at Gai’s lips and Kakashi wished at that moment that he could take a snapshot of this moment. Savour that sweet, gentle smile for the rest of his life. “And I love you.”

“And you know,” He continued, sighing when that beautiful smile disappeared. “No matter how much I wish I could, I cannot be your husband. Not if you want to keep this kingdom and protect the people here from war’s the others would gladly start.”

“I-”

Closing the small amount of distance between them, Kakashi pressed his forehead against Gai’s and grabbed hold of the hand that was still pressed against his neck. “There’s nothing else to say,” he whispered. “But remember, marriage doesn’t mean I’m gone. I will still be at your side until the day that I die.”

“What if they don’t like you?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. “Your Highness, I swear that there is no Prince or Princess that you could marry in this world that would be able to remove me from your side.”

“Not even Prince Obito?”

Another laugh, this time a little bit softer. “Not even Prince Obito,” he promised. “Though, if you’d like a suggestion, I think Princess Rin might be your best choice.”

“Because I couldn’t think of a reason not to marry her?”

“No,” squeezing Gai’s hand, he moved back and straightened himself up once more. “I think she would be a good Queen for your Kingdom and she does like Pakkun.”

The overwhelming dread that had settled over them suddenly shattered as Gai quickly covered his mouth in a rather poor attempt to mask his laughter. “Pakkun?” He wheezed out the name. “She likes Pakkun?”

“Are you surprised?””

Shaking his head, Gai huffed. “Not at all. I quite like Pakkun myself, it’s just so…you, to care about the fact that she likes your dog.”

“He goes almost everywhere with me. It’s important that the people that I will be tasked with protecting enjoy his company,” Kakashi defended himself. “And besides, I thought you said you liked me. Does that not mean you also like that I worry about others liking my dog?”

Raising a hand, Gai waved a disapproving finger at him. “I never said I liked you,” he admonished him. “I said I love you. That’s completely different.”

“Right, I apologise,” bowing his head, Kakashi snorted when he was rewarded with a light slap to the shoulder. “I won’t mix up the two again, Your Highness.”

“You’re better not,” reaching out, Gai took hold of Kakashi’s arm once more and turned back down the hallway. “Now, onwards.”

“But-”

“No buts!” he insisted while dragging Kakashi through the hallway. “You said I had to get married to someone else. You didn’t say anything about not dragging you to the bedroom so I could suck you off.”

Heat poured into Kakashi’s cheeks. “I- you can’t just-” stumbling behind Gai, he sighed. There was no hope in arguing against such a determined man, and he’d only be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t interested in seeing his Prince on his knees in front of him sucking him off.

So, with a new found determination of his own, he sped up and fell into step with Gai. “In that case,” he focused on the path ahead of him and was determined to get them to Gai’s room swiftly. Before anyone could spot them. “Let’s not waste any time, your Highness.”

A ball room full of guests waiting for their return, and an uncertain future ahead of them. All of it could be pushed off for just a few precious moments. Long enough for Kakashi to tangle himself up in Gai’s arms and make love to him one more time. 

And perhaps a second time before they returned, for good measure.

[happyselves]

Pacify Him { Daniel Ricciardo x reader } /// WARNING EXPLICIT ///

Chapter : One shot Rating : Mature / Explicit / NSFW Words : 3,622 words

“Pacify her, she is getting on my nerves, hold your bitch before I push her away. You’re free to bring anyone here as long as they are behaving, but her … I don’t judge the person you are seeing, obviously I could give two shits about it but please tell her to calm herself down … This isn’t professional.”

You were fuming as you entered Daniel’s driver room,as his PR assistante you never interfere in his frequentation, but when it was impacting the reputation of the team and bugging people visiting the motorhome you had to step him. You calm yourself after a few breaths, stepping aside from Daniel a bit before looking at him again.

“ I didn’t mean to come that hard on you Daniel, but please you know how this is important right. You always ask for my honest opinion and there it is, I didn’t mean it for it to step out this hard on you but I can’t apologize for my words when I was thinking about them. She is toxic for you, she brings the bad in you when you are someone adorable usually. What is happening to you that you don’t trust me enough anymore to tell me when something is going wrong ? And before you are shushing me off, you know I am right, you and I are a package deal. “

He was defeated, not even looking at you, his whole body was shutting down and his legs were giving up on him. He takes the closest seat near him, almost falling and barely able to sit gracefully like he used to do.

“ I don’t know … I am so lost, I keep doing stuff wrong, I can’t find my soul anymore, I’m not very myself recently, I can’t even find my smile being genuine in the morning when I wake up in the morning. I’m putting a mask for people to see, but I’m like an empty shell. This bitch as you call her is only here to distract me and try to make me feel alive. She is nothing and it was a mistake to bring her… “

You were very concerned about Daniel’s attitude, it was the first time since you have known him that he worries about you right now. You were kneeling in front of him, trying your best not to invade his personal space. It’s something new for you, not invading it, you never ever thought he needed one but he looked so fragile, then you were under the impression that if you were touching him he would vanish into dust.

“ You are scaring me, what’s happening, is it the team ? Something personal ? You know you can tell me everything … “ A long silence got installed, your eyes were starting to water by all the pain you were seeing in him. You thought he wouldn’t open up, he was shutting you out by the way his body was curling up and turning to avoid your gaze on him. He was protecting himself like a kid that was terrified of a big stormy night.

You wanted to be the one to reassure one, but you were practically sure you were part of the problem. You stand quietly, ready to leave him alone in his driver room because there was nothing you could do if he wasn’t letting you.

His reaction was imminent, the driver inside of him was popping up and his muscles memories acting for him as it was his turn to get up and close the space between you, shutting the opened door. You yelped out of surprise before feeling his pressing body against you. You were stuck between the wooden door and his warm torso. Feeling his heretic heartbeat pounding in his chest. You couldn’t speak, you were too shocked for that. You and him were friends, close friends but not that physically close. You never cross that boundaries, but today was different, you felt it was.

The seconds looked like hours waiting for the confirmation of your assumption. Daniel seems to be as surprised as you to have acted the way he did, it was too late to back away now.

“ Don’t leave … don’t walk out that door “ His forehead was now resting on the back of your head, slightly not to hurt you and put weight on it. You wanted to ignore all the fuzzy feelings flooding in your whole body, but you couldn’t. Having him so close to you awakens a deep feeling hidden in you. “ The bitch will go away I promise, I am sorry “

Why was he apologizing to you, he didn’t disappoint anyone, yet. You weren’t even mad, you learn better to not judge someone's fucked up attitude when you could recognize the coping mechanics of someone keeping a secret and trying to turn the attention away from himself for nobody to catch the true meaning behind these actions. Does that make it acceptable ? It was each individual to have their own opinion. It was annoying you, that Daniel was suffering but preferred to distract himself and run away from his problem instead of talking to you or anyone else.

You close your eyes, your own forehead finds the cold surface of the door, his own head following yours not breaking the contact. HIs hands find the side of your hip.

“ The bitch isn’t the problem isn’t it ? “ You asked without any certainty he will give you a proper answer to that. His thumbs were caressing the skin of your hips through the tissues of your teamwear shirt, drawing a circle. You were sure he didn’t even notice he was doing it, his body was only responding to one mood and it was the auto-pilot one.

You were searching for breath and the driver’s room was starting to get tighter by the meanings, you were about to suffocate if the situation in which you both were wasn’t going to change fast enough.

“ You are the only one that can take away my pain … “ It could pass for a simple sentence if it wasn’t so Daniel, you had learned the code of conduct of Daniel Ricciardo and that … that was a declaration. “ It was you and I before, remember ? “

You were missing a piece of puzzle here, what was he talking about, is he drunk ? You never act differently around him, nothing changes, it never does. Yes it was him and you, always have been.

“ What are you talking about Daniel, you are confusing me “

“ Why did it change, the two of us … “ He was responding to your question by another one, like he was having his own conversation in his head, you were tempted to let him speak his mind to discover the bottom of the problem.

“ It didn’t change Daniel … “ You were trying as much as you could to put everything together, in vain.

“ It did change, I can’t look at you the same way as before … “ There it was, a little clue. If only he knew that it has been a long time since you have been able to look at him the way he used to when you meet him the first time. It was more than annoying you that he had brought someone with him for the weekend, more than it should. You were fuming when you saw the unknown name on the list of guests and asked someone to lighten it for you.

“ I know you are lying, why would you react the way you just did before if you weren’t “ You wanted to look at him, but his body was still pressing you against the cold wood. You had so much to say and him as well, all this unspoken tension you both tried to make yourself believe was a liar. You were both frauds, your friendship switched into something more months ago after a drunk night. Nothing happened that night, only looks were exchanged. The battle you both had as a joke at first turned into something way more deeper than you both were expecting and when you both tried to pull out of it, the damage had been done. That night was an epiphany moment for you, awaking the true desire between you. Your bodies couldn’t lie, the need for them to touch, the flaming sensation of his skin against yours like it was happening right now. Everything happened before and since that night, it never was the same thing for Daniel and everything went downhill.

You move your hand, posting on the door and Daniel understands the message and detaches himself from you. You slowly turn, god he was a mess and you bet you weren’t better.

“ You bewitched me that night, seduced me with your eyes. It was a game at first and now look at us, where is the game now ? “ He wasn’t accusing you of anything, it was a simple statement, an understanding between you. Two people were playing the game and two people ended up losing.

“ That wasn’t my intention, I tried to pull away, it was too late “ Who sounds defeated now, the tables have turned and he brings you down with him to the bottom of his misery. A couple bruises on your heart that he created was all you needed to have the proof that at least you two had shared a moment. It had to stay professional, but as his face was closing up the gap, all your convictions were being erased one by one.

You didn’t wait for him, you joined him in the middle, your lips connected quicker than he had anticipated, your eyes shut down in synchronisation. You didn’t who reacted first and kissed the other one back. That lip was perfect, far from it, it was messy just like him, but it was passionate. His teeth were teasing your bottom lips, asking permission to tear the flesh of it apart. You moaned when his tongue was inviting you to open your mouth. The taste of your two saliva was so intoxicated that you almost fell and he had to catch you with both of his arms, supporting you from your lower back. His smile came back to life against your mouth, letting out a childish giggle and you hit his arm to make him stop making fun of your lack of stability.

HIs reaction was quick, if you couldn’t stand up anymore he would use that door to help you. He pushes you toward it and your back gets lean on it, his arms unlocking themselves to explore your body, finding where they were before except this style the hem of your shirt came loose, letting the palm of his hand directly enter in contact with your skin, sending you shivers.

You had forgotten your environnement, too busy burying your own hands in his dark curls, bringing him closer as much as possible. Your teeth were still clenching and air was starting to lack in your lounge. You didn’t want to let go, scared for the reality to be brought back. You have been dreaming for months about this. Having the fantasy in your head when the night was setting and the moon shining.

DSaniel didn’t let you think for another second as he used this little moment of rest when you stop kissing him for a second, to lift you up, grabbing your ass, his palm firmly around it. He moves you and remembered to lock the door before turning back his focus on you as he finally break the kiss to look at you. Lust could be seen all over your two faces. His face was not showing any sadness anymore, only mischievousness and happiness. If you knew that all you needed to do to bring back the Daniel you knew was to let your own desire take over you, you would have done it sooner.

He took the direction of the massage table beside him, putting you on the edge before finding your neck and kissing the soft skin. You let a snort escape when his scruff tickles a sensitive spot behind your ear. He laughs against the skin and the vibration changes the snort into a whining complaint. He traveled all the way down to your clavicle but the fabric of your shirt was stopping him. He didn’t wait for your approval to remove it, the force of the removal making you lift your arm automatically. They fall back on his neck when he throws the piece of tissue somewhere you will have a hard time finding back.

That was extremely hot from him and by your legs starting to spread a little bit and the heat you were starting to feel between them, he noticed acknowledge the effect he had on you and smirk, visibly proud of himself. It was not the time to hide yourself even if you could feel embarrassed, this man in front of you was everything you had dreamt of and it had the talent to make you feel confident of your body, just by the way he looks at every detail of your body.

You were eager to let him take the situation under his control and only his, not doing anything and just being the prize he was working on to have for so long. All the torment, the torture and the conviction he will never have you, he deserved it. You will get your prize another time … it was only the beginning for you.

He was taking his time with you,no matter how much his desire was waking up, he had one mission and one mission only; your pleasure. You could see the forming bulge in his pants and felt for him, imagining how inconfortable it must be for him.

It all went to dust when his hands found their way under your bra cupping your breast and his lips traveled your chest as he was kissing his way down. He was leaving wet kisses and blowing air on it, goosebumps started to appear quickly, head being jolted back.

You wish you knew what to do with your hands but they were gripping the leather of the massage table so hard your knuckles were getting white by the second. He didn’t seem to care as his hands found your pants, he pushed you a bit behind, making unspeakable demands for you to lift your ass so he could slide the piece of clothes down for it to join your shirt somewhere in the room.

You could barely keep your eyes open as you witnessed the extremely hot scene in front of you. Daniel between your legs, keeping the same pace with you, kissing his way up toward the inner of your thighs. You sensed his teeth nibbling your skin, licking every spot afterward, like he was trying to heal the pain he just caused you. Little did he know that pain you were feeling was arousing you even more, your panty was starting to visibly licked your excitement. It was feeling like torture, you thougth that Daniel would be like the others partner you had, your skin would get used to the touch after a moment and the horniness would stop at a certain level, thinking you had reach the maximal of his possibility. How wrong were you when you were on the verge to cum without him actually pleasuring you in this area. You knew it was coming, Daniel kisses were more hungry, teasing the flesh of your thigh turning red by the bite and the kisses.

His lips were swallowing, getting bigger by the unusual exercise they were carrying on, his tongue would feel numb if it was for the desire he had to taste you, letting it survive for a couple minutes still. You watch him, leaving a kiss on the wet fabric of your underwear, your eyes were blurrying by the anticipation of him finally finding your clit. His teeth end up moving the piece of dentelle that was the last barrier between you and him.

It was like he was home and belonged there, here with you, right in this instance, it was you and him against the world. Forgetting your environnement you let a cry escape a little bit too loud as soon his thick tongue was licking arousal. You thought that seeing the start was a legend, a fantasy, but Daniel had made you become reality as your head was banged back, finding the cold wall, your neck was stretching so hard that the blood was lacking in your brain making you see some sparkling spot. He needed you to stay quiet and as he tried to put one of his hands on your mouth he ended up finding the neck instead, squeezing it enough for you to moan his name as he was continuing his exploration of your pussy.

Your hands finally leave the grip of the massage table to find their new place around Daniel's arm. You were stretched out in front of him, so vulnerable, just for him and you were unable to give a proper reaction to being buried in the pleasure he was giving you. His tongue was teasing your entrance, making it hardening, pushing himself in you as you will. The thumb of his free hand was moving in a slow circle around your clit. He didn’t know the dilemma you were encountering, keeping your eyes shut and your head back or fighting his firm hand on your neck for you to see him eating you alive. You sure had to make a decision quickly because you were soon to arrive at the edge before you will let the orgasm consume your whole body.

By the sound you were making, Daniel had the confirmation he was doing everything in the right way for you. He never experienced such joy to make someone lose their composure due to his actions. He was feeling proud that he was finding it out with you. Every woman he had been with didn’t sound or look as beautiful and real as you spread in front of him right now. He could spend hours tasting you, how good you were for him, how reactive and sensitive your skin was becoming after being torn apart by him. How the thought of fucking you with his tongue had haunt his dream for the past couples of month now, but the reality of this was surpassing all his expectations. He wanted to be rough with you, all the dirty thoughts came back rushing into his brain, overwhelming him and sending twitch to his dick. Rather than being dominant, it was all about showing you how much he had wanted you and how willing he was to give you anything you wanted, because you deserved it. You deserved for him to make you forget every man you had sex with. Replacing all the bad and good memories with his own. Changing all the faces in your dream, planting his own in the own DNA of your imagination.

He could feel that you were holding it together for it to last longer, even if that meant losing the self-control you had in you. Your wall was tightening around his fat tongue. You were completely losing your mind at the foreword of sensation throwing at you at the same time. You were sure it was too much for one person and you could care less about the verbal explosion you might have in a couple of seconds. Daniel however, foreseeing your release, put two fingers in your mouth holding your jaw from your mouth, your lips closed themself around them and your tongue was soon relaxing on them. You bite his knuckles when his tongue replaces his thumb in one flick of the tongue, finally letting cum. Your legs were shaking and Daniel had to hold you for you not to hurt yourself, your eyes were rolling back as your orgasm hit you in small waves, sending you jolts of electricity around your body. Your brain was shutting down, the stifled moan never reaching the exterior of your mouth, dying down on Daniel’s fingers in sensual vibration that made his bulge react, begging to be taken care of.

It tooks you minutes to come back to the open world, Daniel’s eyes not leaving you for a second, admiring his work. You slowly come back to reality and automatically search for him, missing his touch already. Your eyes were still not open when you found the collar of his shirt and pulled him rather violently, crashing your lips together, taking a taste of your own juice still lingering on his lips. You sigh in the kiss, reassured that what just happened wasn’t just a dream and that you were far needing to wake up from it.You rest your forehead on his, the wave of pleasure was still leaving some after effects on you including dizziness.

You had to clear your throat as you realised no sound was coming it out the first time you tried to speak.

“ That bitch needs to go, tell her you replace her with a more living version. “

You couldn’t help but laugh at your own words and Daniel was smiling at the way you just described yourself.

“ She’s already gone, she was already gone before you burst into my room.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, but one thing for sure is that you will have a hard time making people outside of this room say that nothing happened between the two of you. At least you would not pissed them off and you were able to pacify him at any time.

MASTERLIST

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Hide && Seek;; YHW

Word Count;; 3.5k

Genre;; HORROR

Pairing;; Hwanwoong x Reader

Summary;;

Inside this grand, lavish hotel and its sparkling veneer of respectability, you find yourself playing the role of the feline in a little game of cat and mouse. Your opponent? Hwanwoong, the man with the angelic smile and carefree eyes. The further you chase him, however, the harder it is to settle your nerves. The line between predator and prey is blurring and you can't help but wonder who exactly is pursuing who.

Warnings;;

TW// Blood, Character Death (random side character), Supernatural and Dark Themes!! Graphic depictions of violence! I’m serious here! It’s a bit intense. NOT for the light of heart (or stomach). Oh, and explicit language.

Please be mindful of these warnings as this features EXPLICIT violence.

Notes;;

Day Nine of the Halloween 2k20 Prompts! ~Monster~

My Masterlist

   You've had too much to drink.

   With a cloudy mind, you stumble after your companion. Your feet drag as you lag behind him. You pass many doors but he doesn't stop. Further down the hall and deeper into the building you travel, long past the area of the hotel reserved for guests.

   His silky hair bounces every time he turns to you. After what feels like an eternity staring at the back of his head, you appreciate the fleeting glimpses of gleaming eyes and that cheeky smile he flashes your way. He's keeping an eye on you, making sure you don't wander off in your drunken haze. That much is obvious but you don't mind, not really. In return you are dutiful in your pursuit of him.

   You can't recall where he is taking you. With half a mind to ask, your mouth falls open only to snap shut - he's looking back at you now with such an intensity that all you can do is stare in return. There's something swirling deep within his eyes but you can't pinpoint it; you can't put your finger on what emotion is prevalent in his gaze as it bears into your soul.

   Seconds crawl by.

   One foot in front of the other, you're on autopilot as you follow him without a thought of your own, your mind zeroing in on the burning intensity of his stare. He pulls you deeper into his hypnotic, hungry eyes with every step all the while leading you deeper into the bowels of the hotel. For some reason you trust him and you don't question the dubious situation despite this being the first night you've met.

   There's a familiarity about him that lures you.

   You come across a red sign and some yellow tape. He steps over it so you do too, tripping over your own feet to catch back up to him as his pace quickens. He disappears around a corner and you chase him. You're always hot on his trail and yet you remain so far behind.

   Your hand slides down the wall as you round the corner. Chips of paint slough off and embed within the soft flesh of your palm. With a hiss of pain, you look down. Tiny beads of blood well around the points of impact, each marked by stiff, sharp shards of paint.

   If you pull them out now, sure, it'll sting, but leaving them in will only cause misery later alongside a possible infection.

   With your mind set, you get to work. It's a struggle to remove the tiny pieces but you try nonetheless. They're small and fragile, breaking before you have a chance to remove the whole fragment but you don't give up. Piece after piece, you pick and scrape into the tender, sensitive skin.

   Blood flows more freely now. It's hard to see the paint when there's so much blood leaking out of the growing gashes but you're stubborn. You don't leave jobs half-done and you can feel more of the tiny shards just beneath the skin, taunting you. They slip deeper the further your nails chase them.

   As if they're makeshift pliers, your middle finger and thumb stretch open the skin while your pointer finger digs deep, blood and flesh pulsing from the assault.

   "Having fun?"

   You stop dead in your tracks.

   Rubbing your eyes in an attempt to clear away the alcohol-induced haze, you frown. Hwanwoong is nowhere to be seen. You squint as you scour, searching up and down from the cracked floor to the peeling ceiling, but find no clues as to his whereabouts.

   Brushing it off, you look back down to your palm and the involuntary shiver that rocks your whole body leaves you trembling.

   It's sobering.

   The complete lack of blood, paint splinters, and cuts is sobering.

   "Funny, isn't it?"

   "What the fuck?"

   It's a whisper meant to be consumed by the thundering silence and yet you know he heard it. He's lingering. Nowhere to be seen but everywhere at once, Hwanwoong is both near and far. You can't wrap your head around it.

   Then there's the shift in the hall that is plain inexplicable. Up is down and down is... gone. You haven't any proof, just a gut feeling, but it's enough and you worry that if you do check, there will be nothing at all. Will you fall, then, like a cartoon character who has just realised they're running on air? Will you plummet right through the floor, tumbling out of reality in your pursuit of Hwanwoong?

   Where did he go?

   Dropping your hand out of view, you consider it lost to you now. Anything below the waist feels numb, as if it has merged with the darkness you suspect 'down' has become. Eye level seems safe enough so you gaze from side to side.

   It isn't how you remember it to be.

   The wall is pristine. There are no cracks. The paint isn't sloughing off. Nary a blemish marks the white, clean walls on either side of you. It's dangerous to let your eyes wander and yet you have no real control over yourself. They drift up and down, still cautious of the ceiling and floor but eager to solve this mystery all the same.

   Turning your head, you gaze back at the corner where you had injured yourself. At least you thought you had. There is no bend or corner there, just a straight pathway leading you to…

   You gulp, taking a step backward.

   At the end of the hallway there's a room you wish to avoid.

   At the end of the hallway there's a door that beckons to you.

   It whispers the promise of death.

   Snapping around once more, you run. You run and you run and you run until your lungs cannot bear it any longer and your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. No matter how far you go, there's no exit.

   Gulping down air while resting against the wall, your nails dig into the plaster in an attempt to keep your body from collapsing down into the void. It comes up to your knees and the longer you stay still, the harder it is to move. Your head wobbles and shakes with every breath before your eyes flutter close.

   Just a quick breather you tell yourself, knowing full well that if you don't snap out of this reverie, you'll fall headfirst into the madness consuming you.

   "Should we play?"

   The gasp bubbling free from deep within dissipates beneath the constriction of your throat. Nails impale themselves into the tender flesh of your neck. The higher you're lifted, the stronger his grasp becomes. Blood pools in your feet. Your body shakes. Your mind screams. Your eyes open.

   But there's nothing.

   Checking your neck for blood, you find it isn't even sore to the touch. Before you is that endless hallway but not a living presence is nearby. Hwanwoong is nowhere to be seen, though this fact doesn't surprise you any longer.

   When your senses return to you, you're gazing at the floor. The same floor you feared mere moments ago. The carpet is ugly but otherwise harmless. There's no hell awaiting you and there's no darkness devouring you inch by inch. Releasing a shaky exhale, you risk turning back to face it.

   Your nightmare.

   The door.

   Carved out within the wall at the end of the hall, it waits for you. Despite how far you've tried to run away from it, it remains just where it has always been. From beneath the threshold you see the edge of the refracted light, its pattern dancing and shimmering. It's a taunt handmade for you.

   You take a step forward. Unlike your futile attempt to escape in the other direction, the gap shortens. You take another step. There's several indents in the wall lining the way. They're the perfect size for a door and yet when you run your hand along the edges, there's no air nor light seeping through. A solid wall greets your shoulder when you try to force a new entryway.

   While inching closer to the final door and its kaleidoscope of sparkling light, you pound against the hall and all its false doors. Nothing budges and nothing gives. It isn't until you turn to cross the hall, intent on scouring the other side for a hole or error in the design, that you notice the infinite shards of reflective light and how they flood the hallway. Splashes of bright light dance across your skin. Eerie silence follows.

   The door is ajar.

   Reaching out, the tip of your fingers graze against the metallic overcoat. It's old and rough to the touch. You want to pull back, to turn around and escape this personalised hell, but the room is summoning you. It's a call to judgement and you daren't ignore it. You must atone.

   The door creaks once your palm meets it. Though it looks heavy, it flies wide open with a single push. A tidal wave of light bursts through. Your heartbeat escalates.

   It's impossible.

   What you see is impossible and yet your past is here in vivid detail. From the view of the snow-capped mountains in the distance and the much closer fog over the outdoor jacuzzi to the soft jams of his radio and the desperate splashing of water to the stinging chlorine that, even now, burns your nose. It's all the same - right down to that fucking shimmering pool and the woman in it.

   "Should we play some more?" Hwanwoong purrs.

   His body presses against your own and you can feel the way it shakes with every syllable, as if he is brimming with excitement. For once, you know he's truly here with you. Whether 'here' is within the halls of the hotel or back inside that rich psycho's mansion isn't clear to you, however.

   Perhaps you hadn't been the one to walk away after all.

   "Have you been bad? Should I punish you?"

   There's no room between your bodies but that doesn't stop you from trying to push past him, to squirm around him, to force him out of the room with the sparkling, refractive light and the secret it holds.

   "Nah-uh, not so fast cutie." He smiles at you and your feeble attempt to move him. "Let's play a game."

   "No!"

   "Huh?"

   "I don't want to! I need to get out of here, you don't underst-"

   "But you don't even know what the game is yet," he pouts, gripping a fistful of your hair and stopping you dead in your tracks. With how tight his hold is, there's no doubt that the shearing burn exploding outward from the roots is your hair ripping from your skull. You can't silence the scream that escapes your quivering lips.

   There's a voice in the back of mind that tells you to endure, to experience firsthand what you put her through.

   Whether from blood or sweat, you feel a sticky dampness forming along your hairline. He loosens his grip once the tears flow down your face like a broken faucet. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he shakes his head and murmurs something. You can't make out the words over the pounding of blood within your ears. It takes a few minutes before you're able to think straight and he waits for you the whole time, content to just watch.

   "What-" you hiss through the dulling pain, "-game?"

   "You're so resilient. I like that about you, sweet cheeks. Let's play… hide and seek. Do you know how to play?" He waits for a response and the jerk of your head suffices. Satisfied that you're paying attention, he grins. There's something ethereal about him and the way his skin glows and his eyes shine. It's no wonder you had followed him so willingly. He just seems so safe. Angelic, even. "Then go hide, silly."

   With a push, you find yourself stumbling into the room with its giant pool and hypnotising effects. Unable to remain upright, you slip. The poolside puddles turn red when your cheek kisses the ground and blood spills forth from the piece of your tongue you damn near bite off.

   There's a sharp stinging pain in your thigh. Deep within your pant pocket is a solid, round secret. It digs into your leg, bruising the skin down to the bone, and you wince as you stand. From pure reflex you grasp it and hold it in place, scared to lose it.

   "I didn't think it would be us," the woman cries, sliding down the white walls and crumpling to the floor.

   "Better us than the others," you mumble out of instinct, following along with the memory.

   "I don't want to hurt you!" She's full on bawling now, tears and snot flowing down her face. You stand and wipe away the blood seeping from your split lip and torn tongue before spitting the excess into the pool. The water looks beautiful. It's gleaming and bright, unlike the last twenty-one hours.

   "Better you than the others."

   Dragging your injured foot, you approach her. She ignores your towering presence and focuses on staring into one of the little black cameras that have been watching the event unfold. You're running out of gas but she isn't faring much better.

   You can finish this.

   "Just let us go! Please, I don't want to die," she sobs, pleading with the red, blinking light on the camera. "We don't even care about the money."

   Whether it's because of the trust born from a promise made hours prior, back when the odds were tilted in a much more dire direction, or because she thinks she can bargain for her life, she continues to ignore you.

   What a mistake.

   There's killing intent in your aura. It consumes you. Even you can tell and you're quite new to this murder business. And if you can tell, she can tell. After all, before the event your lives were quite similar. Parallel, even. If you could adjust this fast, so could she.

   And yet she's crying on the floor and ignoring you, you with eyes devoid of empathy.

   You with a pool ball in your grasp.

   You with blood on your hands.

   You within striking distance.

   "We just want to live!"

   "Better me than you."

   Her desperate mewling ceases. Instead, her attention snaps to you. She can no longer ignore the threat you possess, not when you've released your weapon of choice from the soft material of your pants. Fear spreads across her dainty features like wildfire. Trying to escape the animosity spiraling over your form with your every step, she forces herself into a corner.

   "But we agreed not t-"

   Physics works in your favour. Velocity, force, and all that, but the semantics don't matter - all that matters is that the impact leaves a splatter and her body is limp. You discard the pool ball and it rolls away, leaving a trail of fresh blood in its wake. Red seeps deep into the grout between polished tiles.

   Relief strikes seconds after the realisation of your success dawns upon you.

   It is soon, however, drowned by the overwhelming sense of guilt.

   You may have won but at what cost?

   Her blood on your face stains you much deeper than the man's had. His attack had come as a surprise. It had been a fight for survival after a helping hand turned feral. You had no choice, not if you wanted to live, and by God you wanted to live. Not just to exist, but to explore and to enjoy and to possess.

   Avarice paints your skin in the darkest shade of red.

   Shooting two birds with one stone, you drag her to the poolside. Blood gushes from her forehead. It fills the room with an unmistakable and distasteful scent. Resisting the urge to recoil, you drop to your knees. Water soaks through your pants until dark wet spots cover your whole lower half. It's an uncomfortable sensation but you push it aside, instead focusing on the slight bobbing of her chest.

   She's the last of them.

   She's the final obstacle in your pursuit of wealth.

   And she's still fucking breathing.

   It takes a few seconds for her consciousness to return after you submerge her head beneath the surface. Her resistance starts immediately thereafter. She contorts and she struggles, pulling away from the iron-tight grip scarring her skull only to sink further into the depths of the pool. Your nails deep into flesh as you seek a more steady hold but you soon lose your footing to the slippery, polished tiles and topple onto her back.

   There's a loud crack and you know between your weight and the position she's found herself in with half of her body in the water and the other half flailing behind her that it is too much pressure for her fragile bones. Her ribs crack one by one, fracturing like the snap of a twig. She screams but the water consumes the sounds, rising bubbles the only evidence.

   From a deep shade of red to a soft pink, the water dilutes outward from the nonstop stream of blood gushing from her growing wounds.

   "I'm sorry, but I've come too far to care about you."

   The words are a reassurance to yourself. They serve as a reminder: this isn't who you are. You're a victim of circumstance. Someone had to do it so why not you? You've come too far to chicken out now. You've come too far to pity the ones that had to fall in order for you to rise.

   Your soul is malleable beneath the corruption of sin.

   Once her struggling ceases, you hold her down for a bit longer. When enough time passes that even an Olympic swimmer's lung capacity would fail them, you hold her down for a bit longer. Even though the blood no longer rushes forth and she's cold to the touch, you hold her down for a bit longer.

   It isn't until the room floods with light that you release her. Strands of her hair twist around your fingers as her body sinks into the depths. The further she descends, the deeper the darkness that consumes her becomes. You cannot see the bottom and soon she is lost to you, claimed by the cold void.

   A hand rests on your shoulder and you jump.

   This is when they escort you off the grounds, give you the money, and remind you of the contract.

   This is when the nightmare is supposed to end.

   For the first time, your memory alters. No blanket is wrapped around you nor is anyone calling your name, ushering you out of the battlegrounds. Instead the hand on your shoulder lifts to cradle your chin, tilting your head back to face your companion. A playful smile greets your widening gaze.

   "I found you," Hwanwoong coos, petting your cheek. "I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on you that guilt was eating you alive but this is always better than I could ever imagine."

   "Please let me go," you stammer, fear settling in the gut of your stomach.

   "Let you go? Do you not want me to clear you of this burden?"

   "No, please, I only did what I had to!"

   "Do you not want me to free you of this sin?"

   "I did nothing wrong! Surviving isn't a crime!"

   "Unfortunately for you, your opinion doesn't mean anything to me. 'I've come too far to care about you'," he mimics with a smirk. "I found you, just as I always do. And now…

   "The dawn of judgement is upon you."

   His palm meets your chest in a harsh push and you tumble. Even though your foot catches on the edge of the pool, it's much too slippery, too wet from your prior confrontation and you find yourself falling backward.

   '-just as I always do.'

   With widening eyes, you watch the ceiling blur above you. It's not what you expect of a pool room. In fact, you know it's not. Rather it's the white speckled panels of the hotel you had been stumbling around at three in the morning in a drunken haze as the years of guilt culminate in another reckless search for trouble, another desperate attempt to feel something.

   Is it still that same morning?

   Has time passed in a blink or has it frozen altogether?

   'I found you-'

   Just as he always does, he found you hiding within that same memory, stuck inside that single slice of hell. Just as he always does, he uses your weakness against you. He plays with you for a time until he gets bored of it all and sets you loose within the hotel.

   And then he plays with you anew.

   In this moment of falling, he allows you to remember. It's the final squeeze of pleasure he can extract from this iteration and he squeezes it dry. He watches fear born of knowledge contort your features and he indulges in it for as long as he can.

   Hwanwoong's soft, angelic face etches into your mind, replacing the gift of truth with a lie of familiarity and trust, and soon a fog covers your mind. Despite your unending descent, you close your eyes and embrace the calm washing over you in waves. Of your own volition, you forget.

   After all, the knowledge of one's eternal damnation is enough to destroy even the strongest mind.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader, a sprinkling of Erasermic and eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 12/16 (all chapters)

Stain’s capture radically changed the atmosphere in the school, for students and adults alike. Luckily, your suspicions about the case proved correct and no one was expelled, though that wasn’t to say Midoriya, Todoroki and Iida got away scot free.

Iida was, for obvious reasons, the most apologetic of the three. He bowed his head so many times and so passionately that you worried he would give himself a concussion. He apologised for being untruthful and pushing away the help offered to him, seeming to expect disappointment and anger from you or Shouta. If anything, the lack of it hit him harder.

Iida, Midoriya and Todoroki weren’t the only ones affected by the incident. Students you had never seen before dropped into your office, some terrified by the footage they had seen and others conflicted.

A particular video began to circulate the web after the incident, one that detailed Stain’s background and ideology. It didn’t seem to matter how many times it was taken down or blocked, for within minutes it would appear elsewhere. It went without saying that almost every student in UA saw it eventually, as well as the vast majority of the faculty staff.

Everyone had an opinion and something to say, yourself included. You chatted about it at the izakaya as well as the staff lounge and then again during the recording of Support Mic.

Even after public interest died down, when Stain’s name no longer appeared on the news and fewer people came to your office to talk through their anxieties, the atmosphere at UA remained tense. Summer vacation loomed over the horizon and with it the end of term examinations.

As was the case with most people, you were especially curious of 1-A. They had experienced so much in such a short period of time that it was difficult not to be even slightly protective of them. With Nezu’s approval, you attended their physical exams, watching wide eyed at each match.

Your intrigue didn’t only stretch to the students. This was your first chance to truly see your colleagues at work and you could barely hide your excitement, chewing at your thumbnail and twirling the pen in your hand, wincing whenever anyone hit concrete or landed on their face. Recovery Girl seemed to find your fascination amusing, though wasn't annoyed, instead chuckling under her breath whenever you gasped or jumped in your seat.

You watched in awe as Shouta jumped from rooftop to rooftop as easily as he climbed stairs; as Ectoplasm duplicated himself over and over; as Cementoss completely transformed the area around him. You felt incredibly small, the reality of having pro heroes for coworkers never quite so clear as then.

That wasn’t the only realisation you had.

You watched as Shouta moved, remembering how it had felt when he fucked you against a bathroom sink. When Hizashi stepped out to activate his quirk, you couldn’t tear your eyes from his throat, remembering how he had moaned into your mouth when he came. Even now, you could still feel Shouta’s hands against your hips; the vibrations of Hizashi’s mouth against yours.

You were ruined now in terms of standards. You’d slept with heroes and nothing else would satisfy you.

Hizashi had stayed true to his word, saying nothing of what had happened between you the night of the Hosu incident. He flirted as he always did, though it never went any further from there. In many respects, you were grateful for it. Not only would it be far, far more suspicious to other people if he suddenly stopped joking around about how cute you were, but the impact of the reset would almost certainly hit harder. On a surface level nothing had changed between you at all.

You winced when he finally activated his quirk and bellowed across the forest. You didn't have any sound, but could see the trees buckling and shedding their leaves from the impact.

You watched as Jirou and Kouda sheltered in the trees, Jirou’s ears bleeding and Kouda trembling in fear, feeling incredibly conflicted. You wanted them to do their best and show how resourceful they could be, but you didn’t want Hizashi to go too hard on them either.

Several students had gathered in Recovery Girl’s makeshift office and watched each new development with just as much interest as you. Each had opinions on potential strategies, though Kouda’s eventual plan of action took everyone by surprise.

He placed his hands flat on the ground and began to speak, which you initially believed to be him panicking as before. However, moments later, the ground at Hizashi’s feet grew deformed and cracked, a seemingly endless number of bugs flooding out from between the gaps.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, skin prickling at the idea alone. Recovery Girl had little sympathy, tutting and shaking her head as if he had tripped over his own feet.

“Honestly,” she said as her desk phone began to ring. “A teacher of this school…”

“I’ll go and check in on him,” you said, getting to your feet and dusting nonexistent crumbs from your lap.

~~~~

Much like the students, the teachers had a makeshift waiting room outside of the examination areas. You jumped back the moment you opened the door, a sea of beetles, centipedes and spiders scurrying through the gap and towards freedom.

It took you all of two seconds to find Hizashi. All you had to do was follow the layers of discarded clothing. You picked up his jacket and gloves from the middle of the room and his shirt and boots from a little further in, wincing at the layers of bugs still contained within. You tipped his boots upside down at the outside door, giving them a few forceful taps that released several beetles. You gave his jacket and gloves a good shake, turning both inside out to double check for any intruders.

Then, and only then, did you return to the waiting room, draping his jacket and gloves across one of the chairs and setting his boots underneath.

The adjacent room was an infirmary of sorts, with several beds and a privacy curtain and you squirmed as even more bugs scuttled through the open door.

Hizashi had dumped the rest of his clothes in the middle of the room and disappeared behind the curtain, running a tap and whimpering every few seconds.

“H-Hizashi?”

He switched off the water at the sound of your voice and mumbled something you couldn’t quite understand.

“Are you okay?”

You stepped closer to the shield, dodging a line of ants.

“My b-”

“Hizashi?”

He poked his head through the shield, white as a sheet and hair soaking wet, though still sticking up in places.

“Boxers,” he said, so quietly that you could barely hear him. ”They’re in my boxers...”

“O-oh,” you said, blushing with both second hand embarrassment and discomfort. You squeezed your thighs together before you could stop. “I’ll try and find you some clothes, just wait a moment…”

You glanced around the room, leaning over to rummage through every cupboard and set of drawers. In the end, all you could find that was likely to fit him was a set of sweatpants and swimming trunks, as well as an oversized UA branded hoodie.

“Here you go,” you said, slipping them over the top of the screen. “Try these on.”

You were leaning over to salvage the remainder of Mic’s clothes when Shouta walked through the door, immediately rolling his eyes when he realised what you were up to. You glanced up at him, t-shirt in hand, scanning his body without meaning to. Now that you’d seen him swinging from rooftops, goggles only emphasising the sharpness of his jawline, it was difficult to think of anything else.

You didn’t notice that he stared back, taking in the way you had tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ear; the way your blouse loosened around your neck as you bent over and teased a glimpse of your collarbones.

“I…” You said, realising you were staring at him. “I…”

“You came to observe us, then?”

“Yes,” you said, grabbing Hizashi’s shirt and folding it over your arm. “I uh… you were great. Oh! The students too! You were all great!”

You told yourself Shouta had encouraged you to pursue Hizashi. He had taken a step back and you should respect it.

Even so, you still couldn’t stop feeling flustered when you saw him, thinking of the kisses you had almost shared.

In retrospect, you wished you had gone after him while emotions still ran high. You wished you had asked him why he was pushing you away. What was it that had changed between you? Had you been misinterpreting his feelings all of this time?

No.

You remembered how sad he had looked. You definitely weren’t imagining that.

An awkward silence had broken out between you and you searched your brain for something -anything- to say. Shouta seemed to have had the same idea, for he reached out to you. You wondered if he was going to pull you into an embrace, but instead he scooped up a spider from the shirt you were holding, allowing it to crawl across his palm.

“Sho,” Hizashi called, “are you there?”

Shouta sighed at that and stepped towards the shield.

“Who else would be here sounding just like me?”

“So mean!”

“Anyway,” said Shouta, shooting you a knowing look, “I’ve got a present for you.”

“A present? For me! Really?”

Hizashi sounded genuinely excited, which only made your moment of realisation even worse.

Surely he wouldn’t?

Surely not.

Shouta pulled the curtain back, though, and activated his quirk. You didn’t see what happened next, but Hizashi’s screams were enough for you to make an educated guess.

“What are you doing?! Get that thing away from me!”

“It’s irrational for you to be scared. Look, it’s far more afraid of you.”

Even without the use of his quirk, Hizashi’s screams were loud. You weren’t entirely sure what Shouta did next, only that a half naked Hizashi threw himself through the curtain to escape. He was in too much of a panic to pay attention to his surroundings and crashed into the first thing to block his path, which unfortunately happened to be you. The pair of you collapsed to the floor, you landing flat on your back against the tiles, Hizashi face first on top of you, one hand either side of your head.

“O-w,” you muttered, having hit your elbow and the back of your head on the way down.

Hizashi winced, looking down to see what it was that had tripped him and blushing a furious shade of scarlet when he saw it was you.

Naturally, that was the precise moment Nemuri walked inside, mopping her brow on her sleeve.

“Well, well,” she said, closing the door behind her. “And they call me the R-Rated Hero.”

Only then did you realise the suggestiveness of your position, both you and Hizashi frantically untangling yourselves and getting back up onto your feet.

“H-h-h-how was the exam?”

“Yeah,” said Shouta, stepping out from behind the curtain, spider still in his hand. “What happened with Mineta and Sero?”

“Oh that,” said Nemuri, grinning and folding her arms. “I lost.”

At that, the room fell silent, all of you trying and failing to digest her words. All of you had crossed paths with Sero and Mineta at one point or another and, while Sero was certainly a capable hero, it was common knowledge that Mineta had a weakness for women.

In the end, Hizashi was the one to break the silence.

“You’re shitting us, right?”

“No joke,” said Nemuri, looking incredibly happy about it. “I lost.”

“Give me a play by play,” said Shouta, setting the spider down on a nearby shelf. “I want to know what happened.”

“You could have just watched, you know,” said Nemuri, before smirking and glancing at you and Hizashi. “Unless you found something more interesting.”

Your stomach churned at the implication, even though you knew for a fact that it had all been completely innocent.

“It wasn’t like that,” said Shouta. “So are you going to tell me or do I have to go and watch the tapes?”

At that, Nemuri sighed and described the exam, how Sero had passed out only a matter of minutes in, leaving Mineta to fend for himself. You barely paid attention, mind wandering.

Nemuri didn’t know you’d slept with both Shouta and Hizashi. She’d been making a joke and nothing more. Even so, you couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like if those experiences overlapped: Hizashi burying himself inside of you while Shouta pushed a vibrator against your clit; Shouta fucking you under a blacklight while Hizashi stole the moans from your lips.

You didn’t realise how obscene your thoughts had gotten nor how much you had stopped paying attention until Nemuri clapped a hand to your forehead.

“You okay, (Name)? You’re really warm.”

“I’m fine!” you squeaked, knowing you probably didn’t sound at all convincing. “Actually...I was just thinking...once exams are over, I want to treat everyone to dinner!”

You had taken Akira’s ring to the jewellery store a couple of days earlier, eyes still popping from your head at the number of digits. You spent most of the night wondering what on earth you would do with it. Your bills were cheap, you had a good salary. You didn’t need that sort of money.

In the end, you split the money in half, keeping some for yourself and donating the rest to a number of charities. You had already arranged to go to a cocktail bar with your girlfriends, but wanted to treat your work friends too. They had, after all, come to your rescue in a number of ways.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Hizashi, “we can just go out to dinner anyway!”

“I know, I know...it’s just,” you shrugged, “I sold the engagement ring and well...it only seems fair.”

Shouta glanced from you to Nemuri to Hizashi, scratching the back of his neck. He clearly had questions, but didn’t ask any of them.

“What about sushi? A new place opened up on Pink Street and I’ve been wanting to try it,” you said.

“Oooh, I’ve heard so much about that restaurant,” said Nemuri. “Their rolls melt in your mouth...”

“I haven’t been for sushi in so long,” sighed Hizashi.

“I guess that settles it,” you said, turning to Shouta. “How about you?”

“I’ll pass,” he said, “places like that are too fancy for me.”

“Aw, c’mon Eraser,” said Hizashi. “It’s the end of term, enjoy yourself.”

“They have fancy tuna,” you said. “Even if you don’t stay, you can take some home for Sushi.”

He paused to consider it, glancing from Nemuri to Hizashi and finally you, colour rising in his cheeks at your hopeful smile.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m not staying long.”

~~~~

That night, for the first time since his recovery, Shouta stayed home instead of patrolling the streets. He had downloaded copies of the matches onto his laptop and made himself comfy on the couch to watch them, making mental notes of every move and decision.

He wanted to go over the strengths and weaknesses of his students ahead of the upcoming training camp and autumn term, though his mind wandered. He kept coming back to the moment Hizashi had fallen through the curtain and landed on you.

He had had suspicions that something had happened between the pair of you ever since the night of the Hosu incident. You had both arrived at the same time, which didn’t make a lot of sense given where you lived. You would catch different trains and arrive at different stations. Perhaps the most incriminating detail of all was the scent that lingered about you both; the same tangerine and orange blossom scent that he remembered from Hizashi’s visits during his recovery. Shouta’s own simple bath products had offended him on a personal level and he brought several bottles from his own collection on subsequent nights.

Shouta remembered turning his nose up at the perfumey scent and layers of bubbles, neither of which belonged in his otherwise simple home. That said, when Hizashi left one of the bottles behind, he didn’t give it back, often reaching for it and inhaling the sweet scent. It was the scent he caught on Hizashi whenever he got close enough, and he didn’t know what to think when he smelled it on both of you.

It wasn’t completely out of the realms of possibility that it was a coincidence, that both of you happened to have used the same product on the same night and bumped into one another outside of the school, but he knew it was unlikely. The simplest explanation was usually the right one, even if he didn’t necessarily want to accept it.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He had told you to pursue Hizashi; he didn’t have the right to feel betrayed when you did. Even so, something had stirred within him when you and Hizashi arrived together, something he had managed to seal away until Hizashi fell through the curtain. He couldn’t stop thinking about it now; thinking about the pair of you in far less innocent circumstances.

His stomach churned whenever he thought about your naked bodies; about the pair of you sharing kisses and secrets. He hated it and he didn’t know why. Hizashi would be the perfect boyfriend and you the perfect wife. It made sense for the pair of you to get together. Hizashi was into marriage and holding hands in public; you had books on the meaning of flowers and pancake moulds shaped like bunnies. He didn’t belong in either scenario any more than he had belonged in the group hug you, Nemuri and Hizashi shared.

He groaned and scratched his hair, turning over onto his side and reloading the video he had been watching. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. It was giving him a headache.

He stared at the screen, watching as Kaminari and Mina sprinted through empty streets, Nezu not far behind. He made it only about five minutes before his eyelids began to droop. He was still getting used to the limits of his quirk and had a feeling he’d overused it in his match against Yaoyorozu and Todoroki.

Shouta stretched back, resting an arm on the arm of the couch and laying his head down on the crook of his elbow.

He’d rest his eyes for a moment and just listen.

He listened out for the racket of crumbling buildings, drifting to sleep before he could stop himself.

When he opened his eyes, he was in someone else’s bedroom, sunlight shining through the windows and bathing his skin in golden light. He was flat on his back and on top of the bedcovers, head resting on sweet smelling pillows.

He realised he was naked and that he wasn’t alone.

Giggles broke out from further down the bed and he looked down, peering through his spread legs and into two smiling faces. You and Hizashi were laid on your front and as naked as he was, laughing at the lurid blush that had broken out across his face.

“Go on...get on with it,” he said, eying his own hard cock.

You turned to Hizashi with a smile.

“Should we?”

“I don’t know,” said Hizashi, “he’s been such a grump lately.”

“All the more reason to cheer him up!”

“Oh, just as expected of you, (Name),” said Hizashi, kissing you on the lips, “so considerate!”

Shouta groaned, watching as he kissed you again with more than a hint of tongue. The wet sound your lips made whenever you broke contact was almost too much for him to bear. You stole glances at him as you ended the kiss, knowing the effect you were having on him.

He gasped as the pair of you ran your tongues over his cock, taking turns at the tip. It was overwhelming and he bucked his hips into your touches, not sure which detail to focus on first. Should he listen to the popping sounds whenever one of you sucked his tip? Should he sigh in pleasure at the gentle way the pair of you ran your hands over the inside of his thighs? Should he choke in desperation at the feel of your combined saliva dribbling down his cock?

This was too much.

Hizashi took hold of his dick and pumped it so quickly that he could do nothing else but grip the bedsheets and shake, watching as the pair of you kissed again. You leaned over to spit on the tip of his cock and Hizashi jerked him faster, the wet sound shaking him to his core.

“I think he’s close,” you said, watching as Shouta arched his back, gripping the bed with both hands. “Should we let him?”

“I’m not sure,” said Hizashi in a tone of mock severity. “I don’t think he’s ready yet.”

You both looked at him, taking in his half sitting position and rasping breaths.

“Fffuck,” he hissed, holding himself taught, “both of you.”

You both laughed at that and Hizashi let go of his dick, making way for you to take it into your mouth, bobbing your head as you took more and more of it in. Hizashi stroked his fingers through your hair and cooed at how cute you were, Shouta squeezing his eyes shut and gasping for air. He was close to the point of no return and the vibrations against his dick as you moaned didn’t help.

He couldn’t breathe; his breaths were short and sharp, his heart raced and his dick almost unbearably tight. You pulled away just in time for him to whine and flop back against the bed, cumming all over his--

He woke up, bleary eyed and sweaty, taking in the dark room and abandoned laptop, the hard couch under him.

“Shit,” he said, reaching for the waistband of his boxers and grimacing at the knowledge that he hadn’t dreamt the part where he came everywhere.

He got to his feet and waddled to the bathroom, cursing both at the mess and twitching of his cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a wet dream. Had it been high school? Whatever the case, he felt dirty.

He kicked off his boxers and climbed into the bathtub, trying and failing to distract himself from the waves of pleasure still rushing through his body.

He turned on the cold tap, both to bring himself back to earth and wash away the evidence. He rarely remembered his dreams, but this one wouldn’t leave him.

“Shit,” he said, rubbing his temples and willing away the mental image of you and Hizashi trailing your tongues over his dick. “Shiiiiiit.”

He sank down into the bath and sucked in a deep breath as the cold water touched his skin. He closed his eyes, orgasm fading and lucidity setting in. For the first time in weeks, he felt clear headed.

He scowled, no longer focusing on Hizashi falling on top of you, but the part that came soon after and bothered him just as much.

Engagement ring?

~~~~

“I don’t believe you.”

Nemuri sat back to sip her beer, looking across the crowded restaurant.

“I’m telling you,” said Hizashi, “she’s the one!”

With the end of term came the promised sushi dinner; you, Nemuri, Hizashi and a reluctant Shouta all at one table.

Only after you and Shouta got up for another round of drinks did Hizashi drop the bombshell he had been sitting on for weeks: that you were the woman from Ego . To say Nemuri was skeptical was an understatement.

“(Name)? That (Name)?”

She pointed across the room and towards the bar, where you and Shouta were ordering drinks.

“She had the dress , Nemuri!”

Nemuri held her beer to her chest, watching as you ordered your drink and bowed several times to the bartender.

“Let’s assume I believe you,” she said, tilting the bottle towards him. “What were you doing in her bedroom in the first place?”

Hizashi hadn’t mentioned the fact that you’d slept together and he broke out in goosebumps at getting even remotely close to caught.

“I-I walked her home and my hair tie broke. Nothing happened!”

It wasn’t a lie. That really was why he’d been in your room. Nemuri had known him for long enough, though, to pick up when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?”

“I,” Hizashi realised he’d raised his voice and leaned across the table to speak in hushed tones. “No, why would you think that?”

“You’re a terrible liar. Besides, she told me you did.”

“She what ?”

Hizashi clapped both hands over his mouth, not meaning to shriek as loud as he did. Nemuri flinched at the sudden loud noise, rubbing a finger over her ear.

“She...she really told you?”

He remembered his own words that night, his promise not to say anything unless you did. He hadn’t expected you to say anything, much less so quickly, and for a second he wondered if he had you all wrong, only to notice Nemuri’s shit eating grin.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” she said, taking a satisfied sip of beer. “You just now, though? You told me everything .”

“Nemuri, promise me you won’t say anything about this! I didn’t mean to, I just...it just happened.”

“What, did you trip and land dick first?”

“No!” Hizashi buried his face in his hands. “No, it wasn’t like that. I only meant to cheer her up a little, but there she was...all beautiful and sad and sweet and lonely...like a love song.”

Nemuri didn’t say a word and he lifted his head, watching the way she stroked her finger through the condensation on her beer bottle.

“Hizashi,” she said, “I don’t know how we got here, but somehow you’re the Shinohara.”

Hizashi buried his face in his hands again, remembering Shinohara’s lurid blushes and trembling hands.

“I don’t want to be the Shinohara,” he wailed into his hands. “I don’t want any of this!”

Nemuri reached out to pat his head, beer forgotten and all of the mirth gone from her face. She remembered a different time and a different trio: a different story of unrequited love.

She wondered what Shirakumo would have said about all of this.

Knowing him, he’d find a way to fall in love with you as well.

“Listen,” she said, patting his head, “let’s assume (Name) really is the girl from Ego .”

“But she-”

“Let’s assume she is.”

“But she is the-eeek!”

Nemuri had picked up her beer and rested it on his head, sending a surge of cold through his scalp.

“Listen to me,” she said. “You don’t have to feel guilty about pursuing either of them.”

Hizashi didn’t miss her wording. They could be his. He didn’t need to feel guilty about pursuing either of them. He had never mentioned having any kind of feelings for Shouta to her. He’d never mentioned them to anyone.

“How long have you known?”

Had he really been that obvious?

“I asked you a while ago if you remembered Shinohara,” said Nemuri.

“You did...and I do!”

“No,” she sighed. “No, you don’t.”

She lifted the bottle from his head to take a sip, remembering the way she, Hizashi and Shirakumo had crouched against the wall in the neighbouring classroom to eavesdrop; the way Shirakumo had reached into her lap without looking to help himself to the chips she’d brought. She remembered the tension in everyone’s bodies as Aizawa began to speak.

Neither Hizashi nor Shirakumo had ever looked so relieved as the moment he turned her down.

“Hizashi,” she said. “Do you want to date one of them, or do you want them to date each other? Which one is it?”

He stayed silent, knowing that the true answer was neither of those things. He wanted both of them in every way it was possible to want anyone. He wanted to be greedy, wanted to be selfish, wanted to forget how it felt to be lonely.

“I want to do the right thing.”

Nemuri sighed and scratched her chin.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It...I…” Hizashi rested his head on the table. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I just want them to be happy.”

“In that case, I know what we have to do next,” she said. “1-A are going to summer camp next week and I was supposed to be chaperoning the girls. I could...hypothetically...be unable to go.”

Hizashi looked up at her and nodded, as visibly sad as a wilting sunflower.

“I guess that’s the plan, then,” she said. “Now don’t forget to smile!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask why, for you and Shouta returned with drinks at that very moment and the transformation was instantaneous.

“Heyyyy, what took you guys so long,” he cried out, practically bouncing back up with an enormous grin plastered across his face, “we thought you got lost!”

“Not quite,” you said, with a giggle. “I couldn’t decide what drink to get.”

“Ahhh, indecision,” said Nemuri, with a knowing smile. “Sounds familiar.”

You sat back down at the table, Shouta not far behind.

“So,” you said, “what were you guys talking about?”

~~~~~

FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

From the moment you stepped inside of the sushi bar, Shouta had made it quite clear he didn’t intend to stay. Even so, you had been there for well over an hour and, while he had poked and prodded at his food and stayed quiet, he hadn’t made any attempt to leave. He had even offered to help you carry the next round of drinks and you were finding it difficult to hide your joy.

He didn’t say much even then, but you didn’t mind it, losing yourself in the numerous options on the cocktail menu.

When he did speak, it took you by surprise.

“Back then. What did you mean?”

You recalled the last conversation you had had at the table, about what you planned to get up to now that your schedule was all but clear. You had mentioned going to Yamanashi to pick peaches and wondered what part of that might have confused him.

“The...the fruit farm?”

“No,” he sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you like peaches?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” you said, wondering what it was he meant to ask you, not noticing the way his eyeline skirted across your bare ring finger.

The pair of you fell into silence again, watching as the bartender put together your drinks.

“I do,” said Shouta at last.

“Hmm?”

“Peaches. I like them.”

“Oh! In that case I’ll bring back a souvenir!”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to!”

Shouta sighed and rubbed his temples and you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing.

You wondered what it was he had meant to ask you and clasped your hands together.

“Shouta.”

“Yes?”

You took a deep breath, the question dying on your lips.

“What about cherries?”

~~~~~

A/N: RIP EVERYONE READING THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME. THE NEXT CHAPTER IS A DOOZY

[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 20

This is the twentieth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Special | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Next

A crack rings out in Levi’s living room, and Eren grits his teeth, his hand stinging but otherwise alright. The wooden knife is still firmly grasped in his hand, despite the firm impact from Levi’s own blade. Levi is fast, but Eren can see his arms clearly shifting, trying to stab at Eren’s exposed side before he can get his arm ready to block in time. Eren slides his right foot backward, turning his entire body sideways so that Levi’s blade will meet empty air instead of Eren’s stomach—

And a shin slams against the center of his back, knocking Eren onto his hands and knees on the ground.

“Fuck!” Eren snaps, slamming his fist on the ground.

“Out?” Levi asks.

“No!”

Eren rolls out of the way of the foot he knows is coming to slam down on his back and scrambles to his feet, his eyes darting across Levi’s form for some kind of opening, any opening—

Levi’s rushing at him. If he can sidestep, get behind him—maybe an elbow against his back, anything to get this slippery asshole down. Then, a slash at his sides—no, his neck—fuck it, Eren can just stab him straight through to the heart from behind. If he can just do that, Eren will finally win for once.

Except when Eren tries to activate that sidestep, he feels the way he lurches, the way all his muscles buzz and the world temporarily blurs—he’s using his powers.

Eren trips over his own limbs as he attempts to slow himself down, and all Levi has to do is follow him down, pressing a knee against Eren’s sternum, the wooden knife aimed at his chest.

Levi raises an eyebrow. Eren sighs, dropping his own knife on the ground and raising his hands near his head, palms out in surrender.

“Out,” Eren says, and Levi slides off of Eren to give the vampire a chance to sit up.

“You’re getting better,” Levi says.

“What, because it takes me five minutes to get taken down instead of one?”

It’s been a month since the day Eren discovered the Feral King was his older brother, and he and Levi have been in full training mode since then. They meet every other day, for the most part, in order to give Eren more time to practice. (There are exceptions. Sometimes the restaurant gets busy or Eren’s school and work pick up a bit. Plus, he’s still incredibly drunk and incoherent the one day a week Levi gives him blood.)

Eren’s been in a rush ever since he found out that incidents like what happened to his mother and himself aren’t rare accidents. The idea of some feral cult just lurking out there somewhere, waiting to create more victims, to kill more people, get more people addicted, and start the cycle all over again—

It drives Eren crazy. He wants to do something about it as soon as possible. But he can’t do anything until he can fight without being a burden to Levi. The last thing he wants is to fuck up in the middle of a fight and get both of them killed.

“You’re more capable than you think you are,” Levi says. “It just doesn’t feel that way because you’re fighting against me.”

Eren glowers at him, and Levi rolls his eyes, reaching out to ruffle Eren’s hair.

“It wasn’t a brag, and you know that,” Levi says. “I’ve been killing vampires since I was twelve. You haven’t.”

Eren sighs again, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I know, I just—” Eren shakes his head. “It’s frustrating. How am I ever going to catch up? There’s too big of an experience gap.”

“You don’t need to catch up with me,” Levi says. “The King’s vampires don’t have so many victims because they’re great fighters—even if they were, it wouldn’t matter while they’re feral, since their minds are too far gone for that kind of focus. They kill so many people because they go for the weak. People who have never fought a day in their life.”

Eren’s expression goes dark, his hands clenching into fists.

“Like suburban moms who’ve never done a fucking thing wrong,” Eren snaps. “Those fucking scumbags.”

Levi just layers his hand over Eren’s and Eren takes a deep breath, trying to cool down. But he just sees red eyes behind his closed eyelids, and his chest burns—

“Levi,” Eren says, “I need—”

Levi’s hand immediately moves away from Eren’s hand to his head, tugging him down until Eren’s face is pressed into the crook of Levi’s neck. An aching pressure eases in Eren’s forehead—he must have been furrowing his eyebrows into a deep glare—and the fire in his chest settles. Eren takes a deep breath, his nose brushing against the spot of skin where he can feel Levi’s pulse as he curls his fingers into Levi’s shirt.

“Better?” Levi asks, running his fingers through Eren’s hair.

“Yeah,” Eren mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Levi’s shoulder, “sorry.”

“No need for that.”

“Mm.” Eren huddles himself a little closer to Levi. “Thanks, then.”

Eren confided in Levi about the weird phenomenon that happens when his face is near Levi’s neck. He couldn’t avoid talking about it. Eren was always dropping his head there any time he got stressed or annoyed. It was far too obvious for Levi to not catch on. Now it’s become a habit for them to use that to calm Eren down. Luckily, Levi never seems to mind.

Eren asked Levi what he thought it all meant—especially the confusing itchiness that always seemed to kick in too—but Levi just said that he’d explain it later.

It’s been a while since Eren asked, but he trusts Levi enough to keep believing that “later” will eventually come.

“Why don’t we try out a different sparring partner for you?” Levi asks, his fingers still combing through Eren’s hair. “I could ask Furlan.”

Eren frowns. Furlan has been helping Levi out since they were fourteen. Eren really can’t imagine how he’d do much better against Furlan.

“Is he as good as you?” Eren asks.

“Not with knives and stakes,” Levi replies. “He was my backup; I always had him use the crossbow and stay out of any close combat fights. Besides, he should be rusty.”

When Eren’s frown doesn’t fade, Levi chuckles at him, moving to brush a kiss against Eren’s temple.

“Trust me,” Levi says. “You’ll be fine.”

~ ~ ~

“Why is your entire fucking staff here?” Eren asks, dropping his backpack onto the floor beside the front door.

“Not just the staff,” Hanji says, waving their hand. “Hello, Eren! Long time no see.”

Eren turns his tired gaze on Levi, who just sighs and shakes his head.

Everyone who works at Kuchel’s Kitchen is gathered on the limited seating in Levi’s living room, including people Eren has only heard about but never met, like Gunther, Eld, and Oluo—Levi’s daytime employees (Eren only recognizes them because Petra pointed out their faces on the pictures hanging in the restaurant). With the addition of Hanji and Erwin, the house feels incredibly crowded, especially because Eren is used to it being just the two of them.

“They’re literal children,” Levi says. “Threw a fucking tantrum because I only invited Furlan.”

“I wouldn’t call it a tantrum,” Petra says.

“Oh really?” Levi asks. “Then, what do you call all of you collectively threatening to quit if I didn’t let you come?”

“We had to be a united front!” Isabel exclaims.

“Well, it was pretty childish,” Oluo says.

“Says the guy who threatened to quit with the rest of us,” Gunther says with a laugh, smacking his hand against Oluo’s back.

“I’m here because I heard about all the fun from Petra,” Hanji says, “and I decided to bring Erwin along too.”

Eren notices the way Petra’s expression darkens at just the sound of Erwin’s name. Actually, she’s seated on the couch as far away from Erwin’s standing position in the corner of the room as possible.

...Strange.

Eren clears his throat.

“So… Are all of you guys going to beat me up, or…?”

“All of us except Hanji and Petra,” Furlan says with a grin. “They’re going to make sure you don’t die if we’re a little too rough with you.”

Eren’s eyes widen, and he whips his head to look at Levi, but Levi looks completely unbothered. In fact, he even looks a little smug, his chest puffed up slightly. He even meets Eren’s gaze and smiles briefly.

Okay… so his boyfriend is happy to see him get beat up. Great.

Eren sighs and pulls a hair tie off of his wrist to put his hair up in a bun.

“Who’s first?” Eren asks.

“I’ll go,” Oluo says, standing up and dusting off his pants. “I want to see what all the fuss over this little vampire is really about.”

Eren’s eyebrow twitches. Little? They’re nearly the same height. In fact, as Oluo gets closer, Eren can see that the brown-haired man is actually shorter than he is.

Levi’s smug smile is a little more obvious as he hands out the two wooden knives. Asshole.

“Any rules?” Oluo asks.

“Eren can’t use any vampire abilities,” Levi says. “Say ‘out’ when you accept defeat.”

“That’s it?” Oluo asks.

Levi steps out of the way as Eren’s grip on his knife grows tight.

“That’s it.”

Oluo stretches his arms out in front of himself, smirking.

“Alright, kiddo, why don’t I let you get a headstart? Go whenever you’d like—”

Eren rushes forward and swings his knife into Oluo’s as hard as he can from the side, sending the wooden weapon across the room—thankfully in the opposite direction of where everyone is sitting. Oluo’s expression hardens, and he raises his hands to protect his chest and face. A moment later and he’s reaching for Eren’s arms, probably trying to take away Eren’s knife and use it against him. Eren’s knife arm lowers, trying to get the other man in the gut where he’s not blocking—

“Ha!” Oluo says, swinging his body sideways and out of the way as Eren stabs forward, very similarly to how Eren did earlier that week. “Too predictable—”

Eren swings his leg up and around, slamming his shin into the center of Oluo’s back and sending him falling onto the floor. Once he's down, Eren brings his foot down on Oluo’s back just a little harder than necessary, and Oluo lets out a choked sound, collapsing flat on the ground, unable to get up.

“Ah!” Oluo exclaims, his voice a little garbled.

Eren keeps one foot firmly on Oluo’s back as he kneels down on the floor beside him. He presses his wooden knife against Oluo’s throat, though he startles a bit when the man turns his head and reveals blood in his mouth.

“Ah! Ah!” Oluo says. “I bi’ ma’ ton.’”

Eren frowns.

“You bit your tongue?”

Oluo nods, and Eren pulls his foot and knife away.

“Were you trying to say ‘out?’”

Oluo nods again.

“Sorry,” Eren says, annoyance quickly cooling. “I didn’t mean to make you bleed. I guess I… didn’t know my own strength.”

Did he use any vampire abilities? Eren doesn't think so. He can normally feel when those kick in…

The room is painfully silent as Oluo gradually pushes himself to a sitting position, his injured tongue lolling awkwardly out of his mouth. For a moment, they’re just sitting there on the floor, with their spectators watching them in silence. But soon a voice cuts through the silence, sounding mildly amused.

“Well, well,” Erwin says. “This will be interesting.”

And soon the whole room erupts into noise.

“Holy fuck—” “Shit, I’m going to get my ass beat!” “Oh my God—”

Eren turns to look at Levi across the room as Petra hurries to help with Oluo’s bleeding tongue. The man’s smile is no longer quite as obvious, but he’s looking over at Eren with his eyes positively gleaming, his chest and chin still raised slightly.

And Eren realizes that those little smiles and smug looks Levi sent his way weren’t at Eren’s expense. No, it was just the beginnings of the expression that’s shining on Levi’s face right now: pride.

The knowledge makes Eren’s own chest fill with light-hearted, giddy joy, like he’s a balloon being poured full of helium. He grins widely at Levi, and Levi nods at Eren before moving to pick up the other knife that had flown across the room.

“Who’s next?” Levi asks, holding the wooden blade out towards the noisy crowd by the couch.

They immediately fall silent, at least a dozen pairs of eyes focused on the weapon. Nobody seems to want to volunteer.

This is going to be fun.

~ ~ ~

No one else goes down quite as fast as Oluo does, but that’s because no one else is generous enough to try and give Eren a head start. They make Levi count down from ten, and with the people on the couch shouting cheers and playful insults, the whole thing starts to feel more like a game to Eren than a serious sparring match. Isabel spends half her turn darting around Eren’s arms and trying to kick him in the back—“Levi used to do that all the time! I wanna try!”—and Furlan shouts “Out!” in panic when he sees Eren aiming the knife directly at his throat. Eld and Gunther are a bit more serious about it, but Eren scrapes by with wins by tiring them out and surprising them with a few other moves that he’s copied from Levi over the past couple of weeks.

“So,” Erwin says, getting to his feet. “Is it just Eren who must fight without special abilities, or is that a rule for all vampires?”

Levi shakes his head.

“Just Eren.”

Erwin nods, coming to stand in front of Eren, though he frowns slightly and turns to look at Levi again.

“You may want to call ‘out’ for him, Levi.”

Eren frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Erwin says, raising a placating hand. “You’re clearly capable. It’s just that I recalled when we first met you. I thought it might be… jarring to face a vampire in a fight again.”

Eren’s stomach drops, his grip on his knife getting tight. That’s right… When he first met Erwin and Hanji, just the sight of their fangs made him uneasy. He was hesitant to be touched by Hanji, even when they were just trying to help him. Having a vampire rushing at him, trying to fight him, just like that day—That might—

That might send Eren spiraling again.

“I…” Eren swallows down the lump quickly forming in his throat. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Why would you bring that up?” Petra snaps, her amber eyes narrowed into a glare as she looks up at Erwin from her spot on the couch.

“I simply thought it would be better to prepare ahead of time. We don’t have to do this—”

“I’ll be fine,” Eren says. “Let’s do it.”

He needs to. If he can't even handle practice right now, he's just going to get himself killed during the real thing. It's better to start here, in a controlled environment, with a vampire who already knows that he might fall apart.

Eren looks at Levi, who meets his gaze for a long moment. When Eren nods at him, Levi takes a deep breath and starts counting down.

“Ten.”

Eren has to remember that Erwin’s a vampire. He’s going to be faster, stronger, more alert.

“Nine.”

Anticipate. That’s what Levi always tells him. If the enemy is faster than him, Eren needs to anticipate what they’re going to do before they do it.

“Eight.”

Erwin’s going to be much faster than him. But he also already feels bad for Eren. He’s already worrying about Eren’s mindset.

“Seven.”

He’ll probably try to make this quick.

“Six.”

What would be the fastest?

“Five.”

Erwin has a tight grip on the knife. He’s going to use it instead of his fangs. Probably because he doesn’t want to scare Eren more than he already thinks he will.

“Four.”

Erwin will probably charge forward, right at him, using the knife for a straight shot at Eren’s chest.

“Three.”

All Eren has to do is dodge to either side the second Levi stops counting.

“Two.”

Fuck. In a real fight, Eren’s going to have to figure all this out in a split second, won’t he?

“One.”

Eren steps to the side, but when he sees Erwin lunging at him, the world flashes in front of Eren’s eyes. Blue eyes look like vivid, bloody red. The room is so dark. It’s empty. It’s just Eren, alone, with the monster charging at him. His mom—where’s his mom? He can hear her screaming, echoing over and over again in his ears. It’s like fucking tinnitus but it’s her voice, her shout of pain—

“Eren.”

It’s a voice, low and soft in his ear. Eren feels cool skin against his cheek, strong arms around him, and long fingers in his hair. It’s still so dark—no, his eyes are closed.

“Eren.”

It’s Levi.

Eren opens his eyes again, sucking a breath into his trembling lungs. He gets an eyeful of pale skin and pulls away slightly, his hands gripping Levi’s biceps as he tries to regain his bearings.

“S-sorry,” Eren says.

“None of that,” Levi says, his voice still quiet but a little firmer now. “It’s okay.”

Eren raises his head a little more, looking around. The staff of Kuchel’s Kitchen is gathered around the two of them, though Hanji is stopping them from coming too close. The heat of shame burns at Eren’s cheeks knowing they all saw him fall apart, even if it was only for a moment. He tries to duck his head against Levi’s shoulder, wanting to hide away from all the concerned stares—

“You asshole.”

Eren raises his head again, surprised to hear Petra’s normally cheerful, sweet voice raised in anger. He finds her with her fist pressed against Erwin’s chest, a fierce glare aimed up at the big blond vampire with his back against the wall.

To Eren’s surprise, he hears Levi sigh. Like this is something he’s used to, something he’s tired of witnessing.

“I warned him ahead of time—” Erwin starts.

“You made him think about it!” Petra exclaims. “We all saw it! He was fine! You reminded him. You put his head there. You started it. You always—You always start everything!”

Blue eyes narrow slightly, and Erwin tilts his head at her.

“This isn’t about Eren,” he says.

“What are you talking about?”

“Petra,” Erwin says slowly, “I understand that you’re unhappy with me about other things. But some things must be done.”

“No!” Petra snaps, her expression warping even more. “No, no. Things happen because you want them to happen—because you’re a sadistic asshole who can’t just let people live in peace!”

“Petra—”

“No.” Petra pulls back her fist like she’s going to hit Erwin, but it only takes a second for her hand to fall to her side, for her voice to falter. “No…”

Eren looks around the room, thinking that one of these people is going to comfort her, going to help calm her down. But these people who Eren has otherwise seen as one big family are averting their gazes, biting back frowns.

Why?

Eren looks at Levi, but Levi just lets out another sigh and shakes his head.

Why?

If no one else is going to help her, Eren will.

Eren pulls himself out of Levi’s arms. Levi doesn’t stop him, and Eren rushes to Petra, grabbing hold of her arm. Petra flinches and hangs her head.

“I’m sorry—” she starts, but Eren just tugs on her arm, trying to lead her towards the front door.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They step outside without another word. Eren closes the door quietly behind him, and Petra heaves a sigh, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Eren.”

“It’s okay,” Eren says, sitting down on Levi’s doorstep. “But what… what was that about?”

Petra sniffles, dropping down to sit beside Eren.

“Has… Has Levi told you about how the Feral King led to his retirement?” Petra asks.

Eren's mind flickers back to that day, to invisible blood on pale hands. He bites his lip.

“He has.”

“He’s only ever given Furlan all the details,” Petra says. “All the rest of us really know is that Levi and Uncle Kenny left, and only Levi came home. But I… I’m the one who’s always been patching Levi up. Even if he only tells Furlan, I’ve seen. That night, Levi—”

Petra’s shoulders hunch, pressing her hands more firmly against her face.

“That night, Levi had one of Kenny’s crossbow bolts stuck between one of his ribs. I was—I was so used to scratches, to bruises—but even though he had broken the shaft off the hide the injury, I recognized the tip as I pulled it out. Because Kenny always used to brag about the gold-coated bolts.”

Eren’s stomach twists at the image, and he places a hand on Petra’s shoulder. Eren can’t imagine how he would feel, seeing Levi come home to him battered and bruised—seeing evidence that he had fought with his last blood relative. Knowing all the while that one of them didn’t come home.

That maybe it could have been Levi who didn’t come back.

Levi was nineteen then. Eren wonders how old Petra was.

“I was so happy,” Petra continues, “when he retired. I was so happy to see him pursuing other things, having his own dreams… but then Erwin—”

Petra’s hands drop from her face and slam into her knees, her amber eyes narrowed in anger as she falls silent. Eren bites his lip, thinking back to how Levi originally explained everything to him.

“Erwin… Told Levi about the Feral King,” Eren says after a moment.

“Levi, was out, Eren!” Petra exclaims. “He wasn’t going off and risking his life every day! And I know, I know that we can’t just let the King keep doing what he’s doing, but I—but I just—why did it have to be Levi?”

Eren’s grip tightens on Petra’s shoulder.

So, this was why. Why she was always so angry, and why no one bothered to try and make her feel better.

… Because Levi’s not going to change his mind. They’ve probably all known that for years. And Eren came to Petra’s side, thinking he could help her, thinking he could ease her somehow—

But Eren’s not going to change Levi’s mind either. Changing Levi’s mind never even crossed Eren’s own.

“Sorry, Petra. I…”

Petra shakes her head, heaving a sigh.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I know… Levi’s doing the right thing. So is everyone else. I just… I can’t forgive Erwin. Levi was out, and he was the one that brought Levi back in. I can’t—I can’t just let that go.”

For a second, they just sit there in silence. Eren’s hand falls away from her shoulder, and he stares at his lap. He’s not going to change Levi’s mind. He can’t. But is there… something he can do, to ease Petra’s mind a little? Something he can say? Maybe it’s silly for him to think so.

“Do you fight, Petra?” Eren asks.

“I know how,” she says. “But I haven’t since we got the restaurant. None of us really have, but I don’t even practice. Sort my own little protest.”

Eren nods, staring down at his own hands in his lap.

“I’m… not good enough at it yet,” Eren says. “But I… I’m trying to get better at it so that when the time comes, I can be there for Levi. So that when he’s in danger, I can keep him safe.”

Eren turns to look at Petra, showing her a small smile.

“So, I’ll do my best so that when we go out to fight the King, he’ll come back to you with not even a bruise for you to have to patch up.”

Petra’s amber eyes grow wide for a moment, getting a glossy sheen as she manages a wobbly grin.

“If you can,” she says, “that would be amazing.”

Eren grins at Petra as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hands.

“Just be prepared to patch me up instead, okay? I’ll probably be fucked up.”

“Eren!” Petra exclaims with a gasp, though she’s starting to laugh. “No! That’s not the point!”

“It’ll be fine,” Eren says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll just be all bloody, and beat up, but Levi? Totally fine. Trust me.”

“No, Eren!” Petra says, slapping him on the arm, and now Eren’s laughing too. “You’d better be joking, or Levi’s going to kill me.”

“Yeah,” Eren says. “Obviously.”

...Well, mostly, anyway. It’s a joke in the sense that he’s not planning on doing anything too self-sacrificial. But if Levi were about to get hurt in front of him… Well, Eren’s not sure he’d be able to just stand there and watch.

But that’s just why Eren has to get good at fighting before then! So that everything will turn out fine, for both of them.

“Good,” Petra says, squeezing his arm. “But really, I’m glad that Levi has you. You’re a good guy. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Petra and Eren both jump at the sound of a voice behind them, and Eren turns to see Levi standing in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. Eren’s mind whirls—he was that unaware of his surroundings while talking with Petra? Eren’s sensitive ears should definitely have caught the sound of the door opening—

Eren loses his train of thought when he looks up at Levi and sees the man’s gray eyes clouded, his eyebrows and lips pulled down into a conflicted frown.

“Everything okay?” Eren asks.

Levi’s gaze flickers from Eren to Petra before flattening back into indifference. Eren bites his lip—if there is something wrong, it’s bad enough that he doesn’t want Petra to hear. Eren will just have to ask him again when they’re alone.

“I’m fine,” Levi says. “Just thought Petra might like to know that Isabel and Hanji convinced Erwin to let her use him as a temporary punching bag as a way to make up.”

Petra perks up immediately.

“I’m not sure about ‘making up,’ but I will beat him up,” Petra says brightly, squeezing Levi’s arm as she bounces up to head inside. “Thanks for letting me know.”

When Petra’s gone and it’s just the two of them, Eren sends a questioning frown Levi’s way as he gets to his feet.

Levi meets his gaze and manages a slight smile.

“Later,” Levi says, brushing his hand across Eren’s cheek briefly. “Let your brain rest for a while.”

“The last time you said you were going to talk to me about something later,” Eren says, “later never came.”

Levi rolls his eyes.

“Then I’ll explain both things la—soon. Alright?”

“You promise?”

“I do.”

Eren hums, leaning down slightly.

“I think you might need to do more to convince me.”

Levi scoffs, grabbing Eren by the chin and bringing him even lower.

“You’re such a little shit.”

“Your little shit.”

Levi laughs just after their lips meet because of Eren’s words, so the kiss is a little shorter than Eren would like. But Eren loves Levi’s smile and Levi’s laugh, so he lets it slide.

“Alright,” Eren says, “I’ll wait. But tell me soon, okay?”

Levi shakes his head before reaching for Eren once more, letting their lips meet again before answering.

“I will.”

“Ugh,” Isabel groans loudly from inside the house. “How long are you two going to be disgustingly in love out there? Erwin is literally letting us take turns punching him! Your sweet nothings can wait until later! Come back in here and have some real fun!”

Levi flips her off without even looking back, but Eren grins at her over Levi’s shoulder, the lack of malice in his voice contrasting with Levi's immensely annoyed scowl.

“We're coming!" Eren exclaims, grabbing Levi by the shoulders and spinning him around to face the inside of the house.

"I'm surrounded by children and idiots," Levi says.

"Even me?" Eren asks, and Levi snorts.

"You don't want me to answer that question."

Eren punches Levi in the back, though not hard enough to hurt.

Eren’s eyes wander to the crowd gathered in the center of Levi's living room (Erwin is standing in the center and looks utterly unphased, even as Petra throws a punch at his chest that looks like it should really hurt) and Eren's smile grows even bigger. This is Levi's family. Petra and everyone else care so deeply about him, and even though Levi is always pretending to be annoyed—and sometimes not even pretending—Eren knows that Levi cares a lot about them too.

This is… the kind of family Eren always wished he could have. A big, loving family that sticks around even despite any issues that crop up between them.

Eren wants to get stronger. For himself, for Levi, and for this. This family that Levi has built around himself.

And even though he failed spectacularly during his match with Erwin, there is hope bubbling up in Eren's chest. Hope that he really can.

Eren's going to keep them safe. He swears that to himself.

And maybe, when he's strong enough, he'll make that promise out loud to them too.

[our-heroes-rise]

slip of the tongue

pairing: todoroki x bilingual! reader

request:  Hi, I want to request a scenario for Todoroki. It’s about a reader who is actually his gf, but she talks portuguese as maternal language. When she got nervous, she start to panic in Portuguese, and she’s nervous to meet Shoto’s mom. How he will help her( something like that). I hope you like this idea. 🇧🇷🇧🇷✌🏻✌🏻

hero name: @todoroki-vivian

a/n: hi, lovely! omg yes, you can aboslutely have a todoroki request, i adore this boy. and i loved this idea so much! it was so darn cute. as someone of mixed race who grew up with a heavily hispanic family i think it’s always fun to imagine bringing home one of the bnha boys/girls. seeing how they’d react to be introduced to the sort of music, food, and p a r t i e s that i grew up with. i’d be completely useless teaching them any g o o d spanish though cause my mother never taught me when i was a kid :’). i only know a couple of phrases and the bad words lol. i don’t touch on any of that here because i’m not too familiar with portuguese culture and i don’t want to offend anyone by getting something wrong because i am uneducated on the subjectttt. there’s only like two words of real portuguese in here and they are from google translate because i wasn’t sure what the difference was between the spanish pronunciation and the portuguese pronunciation. OKAY after that whole thing i hope you enjoy this little scenario, i had a lot of fun writing it and it was super duper cute. thanks for requesting baby hero!

word count: 1,717

warnings: none! this is all fluff :)

Your knee bounced with the subtle rocking of the train cart, heel occasionally tapping against the floor when the wheels ran over a bump in the tracks. No matter how hard you tried, no amount of slow deep breaths or mental reminders that everything would be fine, it would go well, would calm the ever growing bundle of nerves buzzing within the pit of your stomach. It crawled beneath your skin, flinching at the tips of your fingers which picked at the worn plastic seal of your seat, pinched at your bottom lip.

You watched the blur of winter barren trees whirl past the window, not really watching at all, thinking of every way not to mess up this very important day. This very, very important day on which absolutely nothing could go wrong because this was - it was his -

A comforting warmth pressed into your shoulder, calloused fingers wiggling their way through the gaps between yours, bringing a halt to your incessant fidgeting. Striking blue and grey find your gaze, softened by the unspoken question of concern knotting his brows.

What’s wrong?

“I’m just - It’s dumb, really,” you laugh softly, able to recognize how terribly ridiculous you would sound now that the words sit at the front of your mind. “I’m just overthinking things. I’m okay.” For extra reassurance, you give his hand a small squeeze, offering a smile.

Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to buy it.

“You’re not okay if something’s worrying you,” Todoroki says, head dipping to catch your eyes as you try to look away to hide your apprehension. “It might help if you talk about it.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth once again, a soft sigh blows through nose, and you lean further into his shoulder, grateful for the gentle heat that bleeds through your jacket sleeve, soothing your nerves. You drop your attention to the spot where your fingers are now intertwined sitting atop his thigh, his thumb tracing over the ridges of your knuckles, saying he’s content to wait for as long as you need.

Well, at least until the arrival of your last stop where you would inevitably have to step off the train and face the anxiety tearing through your head.

It’ll be fine, stop worrying so much. It’ll be fine, it will be fine, it will be -

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You blurt suddenly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as the eyes of a few curious strangers flicker over to you. Your face sinks further into the protective cocoon of your scarf.

His thumb pauses briefly before picking up its mindless pattern again. “What do you - ?”

“I - I mean, what if I say something wrong and end up sounding really stupid in front of her.” And the dam came crumbling down. “Your mother. The - like - the most important person in your life! I’d end up making a fool of myself in front of the most important person in your life. Then she might think ‘what’s Shoto even see in her? he could do so much better’. Which, you could, by the way. You could do worlds better but you’ve settled for me and sometimes I don’t really get it because - well - I’m me - “

“I don’t see a problem with that. I like you for you and if you are what settling is then I will gladly never settle anywhere else.”

“But what if she - “ your fingers tighten around him at the thought “- what if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for you? What if she thinks we should break up because she thinks I’m rude and annoying and uneducated?”

“Uhm. . . Y/n.”

“What if she thinks I’m a bad influence on you? I don’t want to make her hate me forever, that would be the worst feeling ever because I know she means so much to you.”

“Y/n. . .”

“That would just put so much strain on our relationship and I wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about what happened, ever. You don’t deserve that. You deserve so much better than that, Sho. I just - “

“Meu Amor.”

The name strikes a chord in your throat, catching you breathless, butterflies swooping in to replace the recoiling knot in your stomach. You whip your head around to find the corners of Todoroki’s lips pulling up in a small fond smile, eyes light with amusement. To begin with, Todoroki wasn’t big on pet names, preferring to use your given name, claiming it was sweeter than any silly nickname could be. Though throughout the seven and a half months you two had been together, he had referred to you with the occasional ‘love’ or ‘hon’. However, the number of times he had used that name could be counted on one hand.

Three. It was three times including right now.

He asked you how to say it while you were teaching him random phrases, goofing around in the middle of what was supposed to be a study session, the question being enough to make your face burn. His pronunciation had been rocky the first time, mouth working awkwardly around the words, throwing you into a fit of flustered giggles that had him pouting adorably at you, mumbling not to make fun of him for trying. But, now? Now his near perfect pronunciation left you wondering how many times he had practiced by himself. 

Meu Amor was the Portuguese phrase for My Love. His love. His love. 

“Y-Yeah?” It’s at that very moment that realize you have slipped out of your usual Japanese tongue, rolling through the tumbling hill syllables of your maternal language. “Oh, s-sorry. I. . . I did the thing again,” you mutter, flipping back to Japanese.

Todoroki huffs a short laugh that makes your heart flutter pleasantly as the sound reverberates through your own chest. “It’s okay, I think I got the gist of what you were saying. It’s cute when you do that, anyway.” He says the last part softly, meant for himself. You press your cheeks further into your scarf, hiding your own shy smile.

Todoroki takes a minute to speak, gazing at the same window you were just a moment ago, lost in thought. 

“Y/n,” he finally says. “Meu Amor, -” four times “- frankly, my mother could care less about who you are. I think you could introduce yourself as a high school drop out with a criminal record and her main concern would still be; do we make each other happy? Do you make me happy.”

You allow yourself to absorb the impact of his words.

“And. . . I make you happy?”

He shoots you an incredulous glance, then snorts when he sees you peaking earnestly above the edge of your scarf. “Irrevocably so. Do I make you happy?”

“It’s impossible for me to think about you without smiling.” You give him a bright cheeky grin when his cheeks flare with a noticeable shade of scarlet that crawls all the way up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Good. Then that’s more than enough.” He squeezes your hand, pulling you closer into his side. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind that she won’t absolutely adore you the same way I do once she meets you. If she doesn’t already, of course.”

The statement piques your curiosity and you arch one brow at him. “What do you mean if she doesn’t already? Have you. . . Told her about me already -- In your letters to her?”

“I thought you already knew that,” Todoroki says, frowning in confusion. “She’s always asking about you and how you’re doing. I was pretty sure I mentioned it before.”

“What the heck? Shoto you’ve never told me that!”

“Oh.”

“So - So then she’s okay with us being together?”

“I think she’s more than okay with it,” he replies, his quiet smile returning. “It’s possible that she’s more excited than I am for you to meet her, which would be saying something.”

“That would have been nice to know before I rambled off the entire Portuguese dictionary to the whole train,” you grumble, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to suppress another laugh. And you really can’t stay upset with him for long.

Rough fingertips push gently at the tips of yours to splay your palm out over his, pressing them together. Lightly you run your nails down the long runs of his fingers, memorizing every bump, scratch, and scar, sweeping your forefinger along the wrinkle of his lifeline, then across his heart line. This - the way you were touching him - may not seem like much at all to anyone else, but it was worth worlds to you. It had taken Todoroki months to comfortably hold your hand, even longer while in public, then some to kiss you for the first time. PDA wasn’t what bothered him (not entirely, at least), it was the displays of affection part. Because of the way he grew up, physical affection was a foreign concept, often leaving him lost and a mess of rigid limbs and awkward apologies. But now, he could easily seek your hand in the middle of a crowded train, or wrap his arm around you in the common room, or press a kiss to the top of your head before the start of class. To know that he had made an effort to open himself up to you, allowing you to see this side of him, the side he had only shared with his mother before, made your heart melt and your eyes swim.

Shoto was right, this was more than enough.

A calm voice announces the arrival of your stop and you two stand as passengers begin to climb off the train. 

“Still nervous?” Todoroki asks, threading his fingers through yours once more now that you have both stepped into the morning rush, not wanting to lose you amongst the chaos.

Letting him guide you through the thick crowd, you smile softly, raising your conjoined hands to press your lips to the back of his.

This would always be more than enough.

“No, I think I’ll be okay now.”

[igniting-quill]

korest (south korea x estonia)

Finding Solid Ground

Magical AU, early 1900s

Ship: Korest (South Korea x Estonia)

AN: 

If I was a better writer (and more efficient one) I swear I could have completed this. It started as a 1K, grew to 4K, and is still incomplete! Such a frustrating thing writing is. 

I am a college student taking difficult courses this semester, and to be honest a little burnt out from working on this… so unfortunately this WIP has been put on indefinite hiatus (don’t fret! I have ‘finished’ it with an ending, albeit a kind of bittersweet one. However, most of this piece has not been written and/or edited yet). For now, the story has multiple flaws: weak research, a lack of continuity, and a lack of meaningful scenes: it’s a first draft. However, I still think there’s lots of good parts in it too, plus I feel like I should respond to an ask that is like 5 months old by this point. I have peppered in Author’s Notes to supplement some of those weaknesses. The further into the piece, the more frequent AN’s will pop up. All AN’s will be inside “<” and “>” like <this>. It’s a tad cringey and reminiscent of early 2000s fic, but it’ll have to do. Anon and anyone else reading this, feel free to take what I wrote and continue it. Parts of the good in this that can get salvaged? I think it’s a rather interesting AU, and would be honored if people expanded on it. Just please make sure to credit me. 

I didn’t have great world building in my writing, so this is a brief introduction. The setting? Middle of nowhere Korea, early 1900s. I have blended elements of history and fantasy. The “magic” here can either be inherent (like magical powers people are born with) or learned (Like in Harry Potter where the people have to learn spells to actually do anything as a wizard/witch). Additionally, sort of like a hunger bar in Minecraft, “magic” can run out when the magic user is tired/famished/overusing spells. There are only a few people in this AU that have magical power. Think of it as I made the Hetalia cast have magic in place of their immortality.

TL;DR: Anon, I spent a whole lot of time on this to no avail. I think I ship Korest now though.

---

The first thing Eduard saw was a night sky. Moonlight streamed through soft clouds and stars peaked behind gaps. Beautiful.

But then, a cold wind whooshed past his ears and bit into his skin. He glanced down. Then, his eyes widened in shock. The trees looked like tiny, snow-covered bushes from up here. 

Teleport!

Nothing happened. Shoot. Why did his powers have to fail him now?

He flailed, his arms grasping at thin air as he plunged toward the earth and braced for impact.

“AGH!”

His right shoulder lit up in pain as it crashed into a branch. Crack. He hung there for a second, the branch swaying dangerously before it fell away from the trunk, dropping him lower. 

“Oof! Gah! Eouh! Tss!”

He was out of breath by the time he landed on the frost-sprinkled forest floor. He was dazed, soaking in what just happened. The leaves and snow softened the blow of the fall, but his shoulder still stung. It didn’t help that a bit of his blood was trickling out in the snow. His head throbbed dully. He propped himself up with his arms and his glasses fell off his face. 

Now the world was a blur, including the glasses themselves. He narrowed his eyes and brought the glasses up closer to his face. They were broken along the bridge, split into two halves. He brought the right lens closer. The glass had a crooked vertical gash running through it, ending with a broken rim. He picked them off the snowy ground and placed the pieces into his pocket. Slowly, gingerly, he stood up. He hobbled over to a tree and leaned against it. 

“Hello?” a voice asked in the distance. Eduard blinked, trying to keep his eyes open. He shifted his head to look toward the sound, but all he saw was a blurry forest and a faint glow far away. 

The last thing he remembered was the world turning to black.

---

Eduard drowsily opened his eyes to see a small room. He was in a bed with a thick comforter. It was dark, the windows showed a navy blue night outside. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a stranger walking over with a lit light source, eerily warm for being so small. That’s all Eduard could tell without his glasses. He touched his pocket, relief pouring in when he felt his eyewear. But he still felt tense. One thing was certain: this was an unfamiliar place, he had to get out of here. He tried to muster the energy to teleport, but his body stayed firmly in bed. His magic still wasn’t working it seemed.

“You’re awake.” The man noted, walking over to him.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“I’m Yong Soo.” The other man said. Eduard narrowed his eyes, trying to make out Yong Soo’s facial features. But it was still too blurry. “I found you passed out on the forest floor and thought to bring you home. But first, no weapons please. Empty your pockets.”

Yong Soo respected him enough not to ruffle through his things. Not that Eduard had anything to defend himself with anyways. Reluctantly, he decided to take out his broken glasses. The man took them and examined the pieces.

“You better not take my glasses for long.” The threat sounded empty, even to Eduard himself, but it felt better than nothing. Being in an unfamiliar place with his blurry vision was putting him on edge.

“Don’t worry about them,” Yong Soo flippantly responded. “Now, my turn: how did you end up in this forest in the middle of nowhere?”

That question stilled him. Eduard wondered how to logically explain falling out of the sky without the use of magic.

“I… don’t know. I didn’t mean to land here. And you still haven’t told me where I am.” 

Yong Soo gently placed his lantern on a nearby table. “We are kind of a new country. I do not know if you know about us, Mr. Sorcerer.”

“Sorcerer?”

“Magic user.” Yong Soo recited an incomprehensible (at least to Eduard) verse and waved his hand. The lantern slowly got brighter.

Eduard sucked in a gasp: that move was powerful. All he knew was transportation spells.

“I’m pretty sure it’s my fault you ended up here.” Yong Soo gestured with his hands, trying to describe his thoughts. “A sprinkle of magic and a bit of boredom, and… poof you’re here now. The spell I used attracts other ‘magic users’ like you and me. I was trying to get my brother, but looks like I can’t get to him for some reason” He sighed, as if he had something more to say but didn’t have the words. “Anyways, I am sorry for barging into your life. Hope that this somewhat makes up for your fall.”

Yong Soo grabbed ahold of Eduard’s hand. Lightly, he nudged Eduard’s fingers so that the palm of his hand would face up. With a flick of the wrist, he produced fully fixed glasses and laid them between Eduard’s thumb and pointer finger. 

“Woah...” Eduard whispered in disbelief, examining Yong Soo’s work. There were spells of all kinds, but he never saw one that ever smoothly put objects back together like this. He put his glasses on and looked at Yong Soo. His blurry vision became sharp. 

The clothes Yong Soo was wearing were so different from the stuff back home. Eduard didn’t have the vocabulary to describe them. He wore something akin to a dress, and the waistline was high, right under the chest. The top of the outfit had long sleeves that were wide, hanging down instead of staying tight around the wrist. He also held a thick book in one hand, part of it hidden under the sleeves.

The light from his lantern lit him up so that his pale beige skin contrasted with the darkness of the room. Dark brown eyes and ink black hair, a flyaway curl sticking out the side. An Eastern Asian man. There was a happy smirk on his face, one that triumphantly proclaimed that he succeeded in fixing the glasses.

“Just a simple little time reversal spell” He tapped on the edge of the frames for emphasis, and Eduard pushed his glasses back up with a huff. “Keep those safe, they’re expensive.”

“Now could you please tell me where on Earth I am? I know I’m not at home.”

“Korea. A bit ago we were Joseon. Now, what’s your name traveler?”

“Eduard.” he paused, trying to grasp everything that was happening. First things first: “How long has it been since I got knocked out?” 

“A few days.”

“Shoot.” Eduard sat up and got out from the covers, ignoring the sting from his right shoulder. “I’ve got to go. Back. You know. Before I got transported to this place.” He tried to muster up the energy to teleport out, but, ever frustratingly, his body still didn’t budge.

“Well. How do you even begin doing that?”

“If I could just…” Eduard concentrated, envisioning his home, and pulling himself mentally closer. But nothing happened. Eduard inwardly groaned.

“Okay there?”

“You don’t understand.” Eduard grumbled, trying to avoid worsening his wounds as he shuffled back under the covers. “Before I teleported, I was writing up this article. I’m part of a team attempting to get an Estonian newspaper off the ground. And well, it’s important to me for my article through… that sounds odd but let me put it this way. Though it may sound simple, it could propel us to become our sovereign nation! Independence, that’s something that has been a rarity. And with all the Russification going on, it’s been rough going.”

<Above probably needs development, I don’t know much about this topic and did minimal research> 

Eduard paused. “Wait a second, how the hell are you speaking Estonian?”

“When I saw that you were European,” Yong Soo showcased the thick book he was holding, “I used up my resources. I searched up a spell that would break a language barrier. Unfortunately, due to my own lack of language skills, I wasn’t able to understand that deciphers written words unfortunately. Then it would be easier to read this damn thing”

Eduard looked toward Yong Soo’s spell book. He recognized the Latin letters, but not the language of the script. “Now where’d you get this from?”

“I got it from a... ” He hesitated, “An acquaintance. From out East, Japan. And he got it from a British guy. My acquaintance is not on good terms with magic, even if he was once enthralled by it, and so I bought it from him.” 

Eduard heard rumors of a strong British sorcery. The spell should be pretty good.

Yong Soo kept going. “It was a good choice too. I have translated some spells in here and they are the only things keeping me from going bonkers. I isolated myself in the middle-of-no-where after all. Turns out it’s good to have a companion, even if that companion is a book.”

Eduard looked at the spell book, intrigued. “Since I can’t go back home anyways, should I test to see how well your spell holds up?

“Aren’t you already doing so? With, um, Estonian, right?”

“Well, if I *speak Russian you’ll understand me?*”

Yong Soo nodded. “Your accent changed a bit though.” 

“And, *if I stretch it… do you understand some broken German?*”

“I do.”

“How about-”

“Hold on. How do you know so many languages?”

Eduard frowned a bit, pausing to understand what Yong Soo was asking. “I’m a polyglot.”

“Yeah, I just so happen to be a polyglot too. But I learned about other languages out of necessity. I used to have a life of splendor, politics, and drama.” He pointed out the window. “I took a break from that by moving to a place with more trees instead of people. Right here. Now, what… ‘normal’ man would be that talented? There has got to be a driving factor.” 

Would it hurt to tell this Korean man about his life? If Eduard teleported out of here as soon as he could, it couldn’t do damage. “I told you earlier, I work for a newspaper. Using language, even other languages too, are my thing. At the same time, polyglots aren’t rare back home. I guess that’s what I get for being born into a place that got bulldozed over by neighboring powers continuously. The place gets pretty bi and multilingual. Other languages get impressed onto us.”

“By… ‘Us?’ You mean, ‘Estonians?’ Of a country that doesn’t exist?” 

“Yes.” Eduard said it with finality.

The Korean man seemed to be mulling over the words, unease spreading over his expression. “I wonder...” Yong Soo stopped abruptly. He walked over to a makeshift kitchen area. “I wonder if you like pickled, spicy food.” He beckoned Eduard to come over too.

“Pickled, yes. Spicy, no. Plus, I told you I have to go back home somehow, even if it is too late.”

Yong Soo looked at Eduard with a knowing glint in his eye. “If you could teleport back now, you would have already.”

“You’re not wrong.” Eduard gestured towards Yong Soo’s hands. “But, you also have a spellbook in your hands. If you really wanted to help, you would have given me a magic boost. I would have been on the way.”

Yong Soo frowned. “I don’t even think there’s a spell for a magic boost. I could be wrong though. I got this book very recently and only a few spells have been translated.”

“That means?”

“Considering the fact that you being here is the combination of both my magic power and yours, it seems like the way back is if I incorporate my magic with yours once more. Unless you can teleport for long distances, you’ll have to stay here with me.”

Eduard felt his heart plunge. They were quiet after that statement. 

<AN: Eduard has a hard time dealing with this new reality that he has to stay in an unfamiliar place. I didn’t give enough breathing room to write his experience with that.>

Yong Soo pointed toward a dish on the table. “I’ve got some cabbage-based kimchi. I have been living on this stuff for months here in the middle of nowhere.”

Eduard walked over to the table, looking over the unfamiliar food. “What are... these?” He tapped on a small porcelain bowl filled with cooked white grains. Then he gestured to two evenly shaped straight sticks, each about the size of a rectangular-ish, thinner, flatter pen.

“A bowl of rice and chopsticks. Of course.” 

Eduard searched around. “You don’t have forks?”

Yong Soo looked up at Eduard and a tangible pause lingered in the air. “Ah. You don’t know how to use chopsticks, do you?”

Eduard crossed his arms. “Look, I appreciate this, but I can’t even eat the food you’re offering me.”

“Well,” Yong Soo took the chopsticks for himself, showcasing how they were used. “I could teach you.”

Eduard’s stomach growled, as if on cue. He sighed, grabbed the chopsticks, and looked up at Yong Soo. “Well then. I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“First of all, you're holding it wrong.” Yong Soo picked up his own pair and let Eduard see his hand. “You raise and lower the top chopstick. And then you can do this.” He grabbed a piece of the cabbage kimchi and lifted it over to his bowl of rice. 

Eduard fidgeted with his hand. He tried to ignore the feeling of embarrassment while trying to get a semblance of the position.

Yong Soo let go of his chopsticks and leaned forward. He guided Eduard’s hand to the right position. He backed up after he was satisfied. “Now try it. Move the chopstick above up and down.”

Eduard tried to focus on his shaky hands. He slowly nudged the chopstick up, but then the lower one clattered onto the table. Yong Soo smothered a giggle.

“Hey, hey now. I’m a beginner.”

“I know, I know.” Yong Soo smiled at Eduard and handed him the fallen chopstick. “Try again.”

Eduard eventually got the hang of the chopsticks. He tasted a bit of the food, gritting his teeth at the unfamiliar taste of kimchi.  

<AN: Yong Soo insisted it was a very common Korean staple, and concluded that Eduard just had a low spice tolerance for the red chili pepper.>

---

“You know what? I think I’ve rested for a couple of days, I should try a simple transportation trick. Transporting objects and people are my inherent abilities.”

“I say go for it.”

Eduard laid his chopsticks on the table and shook out his arms. Then, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the chopsticks, making sure to stay a bit away from them. “Come to me now…” 

The chopsticks vanished in a shower of sparkles. Eduard looked toward his hand expectantly. They didn’t appear. 

“Oof!”

A disgruntled Yong Soo pulled the chopsticks out of his hair. He handed them to Eduard. “They tumbled from the ceiling and ran into me.”

“Are you okay?” 

Yong Soo rubbed his head and then cracked up in laughter, “I don’t know about you, but I think you need to rest a bit more.” He tapped on the thick spellbook, “Maybe we can look through this together in the meantime.”

“Sounds fine by me.”

---

<AN: Brief continuity error below.>

“There’s something that’s been weighing on my mind Yong Soo. I normally travel short distances. How the hell will I get back home to Estonia?”

“You could make pit stops?”

“Not everyone is as hospitable as you, Yong Soo. Who knows what situation I could end up in.” He sighed, closing his eyes, taking off his glasses, and placing his head in his hand. “I've already been gone for awhile now. If I go back, I’ll get lost and be gone for good.”

Yong Soo looked up, at least that’s what Eduard could tell from his blurry vision, and stretched out his arms. “Well I am trying to work through this spell book to help you.”

“How are you translating it? Can you read English?”

“What do you mean?”

Eduard put his glasses back on and pointed at the spellbook. “The book’s in English, right? You said it was originally from a British sorcerer. I’m wondering if you can read it.”

“I can’t, not really well. But I did get my hands on this dictionary: English to Korean.” He lifted up a second, smaller book for Eduard to see. “I wrote a few notes for myself in the margins.” He pointed toward some notes on the sides. “English… is very different from what I know. Letters versus characters. It’s hard to decipher the text.” Yong Soo gave him a tired look, “You’re lucky, you know that? This dictionary was a really hard find. Without it you’d be stuck here with me until you walk to a port on foot and find a boat headed to Europe. The process is still extraordinarily slow, and I don’t know the vast majority of spells in here at all.” He looked back down to his book.

“Thank you for all this work you’re putting in for me. As a speaker of many European languages, maybe I could help?”

Yong Soo considered it and opened the spell book and the dictionary for Eduard to see. “Why not.”

<AN: they look over the spell book and determine which spells would be useful. This is a process that is tedious but rewarding.>

---

It was an abnormally warm winter night, so the two men decided to head outside and make a campfire. After all, it was brighter than a candlelit room with small windows. Out here, they had the stars and the moon too. Yong Soo clutched his spell book and wrote in the margins while Eduard semi-deciphered the word and matched it up in the dictionary. 

<AN: they get in a fight over something which gets somewhat physical, the dictionary (I was also considering the spell book?) slips into the campfire and burns up to a crisp. Imagine like a super comical, ‘keep the book up in the air like a volleyball’ shenanigans before it falls straight into the fire>

Eduard sat down, stunned. “I’ve solidified my own fate. I’m going to be stuck here forever. Shit.”

It was quiet except for the sound of a crackling fire. The two men started as the flames ate up the last of the pages.

“Maybe… maybe… how did you get that dictionary in the first place? What if we try that pathway again.”

Yong Soo mulled over the question before answering. “No that’s impossible. I got it through farway political connections.”

Eduard raised an eyebrow. “With a friend from Japan too?”

“Not friend. Acquaintance, and no it is not from him” He sighed and looked Eduard dead in the eye. “There’s no reason to hide the truth to you about it if we live in the middle of nowhere. Royalty: emperors and all. I used to work for them. Sort of. There’s a lot of things I can do with my inherent ability… I fixed your glasses with it. Mostly I fixed things there too: both physical and politically. In my free time I would make my own little inventions, tinkering with objects, and rewinding their physical state when I really messed up. But I was also a political advisor type. That’s where I really screwed up. Sadly my time spell doesn’t fix everything: it does not work well at all with organic matter for example. I left. I usually have some control over situations, with magic and all, but yet there I felt powerless. I feel like I ran away from it all.”

<AN: I wish I got more details as to what sort of role Yong Soo would play in an Emperor's palace. But I didn’t do my research and frankly don’t know what he would do.> 

<AN: This scene, where the two stare at this fire, is supposed to be a tender, shippable moment: people at their lowest bonding. Talk about YS’s background with Korean Royalty/government. YS’s fears are shown, he’s being vulnerable and talks a bit about his worries. Like Korea being smothered by its neighbors of China (Qing Empire) and Japan, at this point in history, leaning toward the latter. Eduard comforts him, and talks about his own life experience, like how Estonia doesn’t have that sweet sweet independence but it could come (ahem foreshadowing 1918). After the tender moment, with the power of teamwork, YS uses his time-manipulation-on-objects ability and Eduard uses his transportation ability to bring back the dictionary. The logistics behind it have something to do with the fire being extinguished, the ashes being clumped together, lots of back and forth, before they legit reverse a chemical reaction. They are tired out afterwards but satisfied dammit. >

---

<AN: There’s a scene in which they learn each other's languages. It’s cute, it’s quirky, and they bond. I’m in no place to implement this because I don’t know Korean or Estonian. A few more sessions of meeting up later, or maybe even in this section, they figure out a mix of spells that can get Eduard to go home.>

---

It was time.

The morning was quiet. Eduard looked out the window at the woods. The landscape was dusted with snowflakes. He wore his original clothes, no use of borrowing a hanbok now that he was heading back. Yong Soo joined him next to the window. He scooted closer till their shoulders touched. Despite how cold it was, Eduard felt warm.

“I can’t believe we did it.” He said, looking over to his Korean companion. “Thank you.”

“To think-” Yong Soo shifted, and Eduard turned to look. 

Yong Soo closed his eyes and leaned forward a tad, his bangs shifting to cover his face. 

“Okay there?”

“Yeah.” He sucked in a breath and composed himself. “Before you go…” He handed Eduard a piece of paper covered with beautiful strokes of black calligraphy.

“I haven’t learned these characters yet. What does it say?”

“My name. Three characters read from top to bottom.” He pointed to the very top. “Im,” to the middle, “Yong,” to the last, “Soo. 임.용.수.”

He pulled out another piece of paper for Eduard and a calligraphy pen. “Write your name down now.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to forget you.”

He looked Yong Soo in the eye, forlorn dark brown irises glancing back. He felt a sob rise in his chest and pushed it down. 

Eduard broke eye contact, and signed his full name on the blank sheet of paper. He handed it to Yong Soo. 

“Hold my hand, will you?”

He spread his fingers across the palm of Eduard’s hand. Yong Soo’s sleeve covered up their touch, but Eduard could feel their fingers lacing together. A solid grasp, and Eduard felt fulfilled and broken all at once. When he went home, could he ever feel this intact again?

“I don’t think I could forget you if I wanted to.”

“Write to me?” Eduard smiled despite the regret that he felt, swirling in his body. “I still need to learn that Korean.”

Despite his sad expression, Yong Soo broke into a smile. “Definitely.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Yong Soo let go of Eduard’s hand and stood back, flipping through the spell book in preparation. “In a time where I felt distant from the rest of the world, you were my solid ground.”

“I’ll miss you,” Eduard whispered. He closed his eyes.

Before teleporting away, Eduard heard a faint murmur in response. “I’ll miss you too.”

---

Footnotes:

“An acquaintance. From Japan. And he got it from a British guy. My acquaintance is not on good terms with magic, even if he was once enthralled by it, and so I bought it from him.” 

I have long strayed from the Hetalia canon, but this is influenced by those episodes where hws Japan couldn’t see the magic-spirit-types in the hot springs but hws England could.

“At the same time, polyglots aren’t rare back home.“

I have no idea if this is true, but I would think it would be. At least in modern times, it seems as if there's some sort of forced bilingualism that people from small countries that deal with. In this case, for an educated man like Eduard, I think knowledge of other languages (Russian for example) would be very helpful.

“I wonder if you like pickled, spicy food.” He beckoned Eduard to come over too./“Pickled, yes. Spicy, no.”

I was going to have this be a whole bit. About culture comparison and stuff! Turns out, as someone who is neither Estonian or Korean with very little motivation to read through a wiki page, I didn’t have enough content to implement my idea.

“But I was also a political advisor type. That’s where I really screwed up. Sadly my time spell doesn’t fix everything: it does not work well at all with organic matter for example. I left. I usually have some control over situations, with magic and all, but yet there I felt powerless.”

His mess up refers assassination of Queen Min aka Empress Myeingseong. I’m debating whether to keep this part in at all because it’s rather horrible to add things in with little research yet I keep doing it.

Thank you to @/alfredtalia for giving me insight into Yong Soo’s name. If your interested, here’s the link to the post.

There’s probably more that I could write here. I’m fine with discussing unanswered questions about this fic thru tumblr asks.

Thank you for reading this long long post!

[ilguna]

Berceuse - Chapter Three

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing.

wc; 10.8k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Alyssum sits alone at a table, picking at her nails while she waits for the Gamemakers to finally start calling in tributes to their private sessions. After what happened on the first day of training, she’d been given a very specific set of instructions by you and Finnick. 

And to sum it all up; she’s supposed to keep her head down and pass through training with no other problems. Do what she wants to do, play with weapons and refresh her survival skills, and keep the hell away from people unless she’s going to be nice. Alyssum hasn’t been put in timeout for years, but this feels exactly like it.

As for Paslee, he was told that if he killed Alyssum in any sort of way, directly or indirectly, and ended up winning the Hunger Games, he’d never be forgiven and he’d live to regret it. Not only would he have to live with the guilt of her death, he’d also be stuck with a bunch of victors--maybe a whole district--that loathes him.

Needless to say, the careers haven’t bothered Alyssum either, especially with Paslee there to redirect them when they come close. Which was hardly ever, Alyssum kept close to the survival stations, and even joined Katniss and Peeta when she felt like she could learn something with them, not wanting to show off.

Although, it’s no secret that she knows stuff that the others do not. 

If it comes down to just her in the arena in two days--which she has a feeling it will--there’s not a single doubt in her mind that she’ll be able to survive. If she can’t fight, it’s fine, because she doesn’t need to know how. As long as she can clean water, hunt animals, and stay out of sight, she’ll be fine.

The only people Alyssum has warmed up to are Katniss and Peeta. She’s not entirely sure that it matters in the end though, because they haven’t shown a lick of knowledge when it comes to fighting. Of course, she doesn’t have much experience herself, but at least she went to the stations to figure some stuff out.

Alyssum rests her head on her hand, right as a Gamemaker comes over the intercom, calling for Marvel, from District One. Her eyes shift over to see the tallest boy out of the career group stand, sharing a smile with her friends. She closes her eyes after that, and lets the clock on the wall tick away, counting down the minutes until it’s her turn.

After Marvel is Glimmer, then Cato, then Clove. They don’t return after they’ve been called into their session, which is good news to her. They’d probably brag if they came back inside, and she’s not really in the mood to listen to that. She’s already had to endure their constant chatter and laughter, talk about a headache.

The girl from District Three is then called, setting Paslee up to go next. When Alyssum looks over to him, curious about what he looks like right now, they lock eyes. He doesn’t stare for long, quickly shifting his eyes back to his own empty table that he’s sitting at.

As soon as Paslee is called, Alyssum begins counting down the time, eyes never leaving the clock. Five minutes, then ten. The nerves in her stomach sprout, and then make her sick when she thinks about her skills. What will she show the Gamemakers that she hasn’t already? The clock hits fifteen, and it’s only a couple seconds later, when they’re calling her name.

She slides off of the bench, standing up to her full height, which isn’t much, before starting her way to the door. She can feel her heart beating in her chest, and despite trying her best to ignore it, it’s loud. The doors open for her automatically, letting her inside, and sealing behind her to ensure she can’t go back.

The Gamemakers are all sitting together in a box, dressed in dark robes. Over these past few days during lunch, they’d go and speak to the experts from the stations, huddled together with the head trainer, too. They made it no secret that they had been discussing tributes, with occasional gestures and glances to the tables they were sitting at.

Now, it’s only her and them. It’s Alyssum’s turn to show them a secret skill, something she hadn’t wanted the other tributes to know for obvious reasons. As long as she has one deadly idea, then she might be alright.

The good news is that she has their attention. One Gamemaker motions for her to start, and she takes the initiative, turning her body towards the weapons, because she’s shown them what she can do with survival skills. The experts have told them how good she is at the stations. The only thing they don’t know is how handy she is with a knife.

She has you to thank for this skill.

This is one of the moments where Alyssum has to be grateful over the fact that you never left her defenseless. You have been drilling the idea of handling knives into her head since she turned nine.

So, when she walks up to the table, with all the differently carved knives on a pretty display, she picks up the first knife and doesn’t worry about the length, or the weight. Alyssum knows she has to find solutions in the face of discomfort. How will she combat it in one throw?

The knife she holds is too light, which is a problem she’s not used to. A part is telling her that now isn’t the time to overcome a challenge, it’ll put her score at risk. Then again, she hasn’t had the chance to play with knives for days, she should just enjoy it while she can.

Alyssum looks over the handle to see that it’s carved in the shape of a flower. Delicate, and the petals dig into her palm if she squeezes it too lightly, she’s careful not to. Her body turns towards the Gamemakers, holding the knife up in her hand by her thumb. In her time of training at the boarding school, Alyssum has only heard whispers about what actually happened during your private session, and she’s your sister.

There is one aspect that the story always revolves around, and it’s a knife. You somehow used a knife to score a ten. Alyssum wishes that could be the case for her, to show the same impressive skill you had, but it’s going to be impossible. She’s twelve, not fifteen. She has to keep her expectations realistic, and that’s why she’s aiming for an eight.

Without warning, she spins back to the targets at the knife station, arm drawn so far back that it hurts. Her eyes land on one of the bodies hanging up by a rope, fingers releasing the knife as she throws. It slices through the air quickly, no weight holding it back, and slams into the middle of the forehead.

She makes a face, looking back down at the other knives at display. There are four more copies of the knife she just threw, but she picks up one that’s on the opposite end, and finds it to be much heavier than an average knife. It clicks in her head then, that they’re laid out from least to most heaviest. If she picked out one in the middle, it’d probably work better for her.

With this one, she takes more time to get used to the weight, holding it in her palm to analyze where it’s coming from. The blade is thick, made of real metal, the blade sharp to the touch. However, it’s the handle of it that’s making it harder to hold. If she throws it, the knife is going to be more bottom heavy.

She can’t throw it by the blade this time, then. 

Alyssum rolls her wrist a couple of times, and then throws, watching as the knife slams into the skull of the dummy hard enough for it to make a ‘thump’ sound on impact. She’s pleased to see that there’s barely an inch gap between the two weapons, side by side, parallel.

It goes on like this, with her bouncing back and forth between knives, throwing them at various parts of the body. Chest, elbows, knees, shoulders. It isn’t until she realizes that she has one knife left, the one that feels just right in her palm, does she see just how much she’s gone through.

A small smile appears on her face, just before she throws this knife too, lodging it where the throat should be.

Her heart is still pounding in her ears, sucking in deep breaths through her nose while she turns to the Gamemakers, who have all suddenly stopped to watch her. She raises her chin slightly, and gives a firm nod. She’s done. She’s shown them all her one secret.

They dismiss her, and she takes a different door to leave the gymnasium. As soon as that door closes behind her, she breathes out in relief. Inside of the elevator, she takes the time to calm her marathon breathing, because there’s no need to worry anymore. She did it, she made it through another obstacle of the Hunger Games. 

Her next focus will be the interview, and then the arena, itself.

When she walks inside of the apartment, she’s able to see you sitting on the couch with Elysia, a leg tucked beneath you. The conversation looks lighthearted, nothing important. Caesar Flickerman is already on the television, talking about what the scores might look like for this year. As if the tributes ever change drastically enough to change the prediction.

“I’m back.” Alyssum announces, catching your attention. She gives a look to the hallway, wondering if Paslee is hiding in his room. 

She partially wants to ask him what the Gamemakers had done for him, if they fell silent when he showed them his special skill. Or if he’s not as special, because he’s seventeen, and he’s a career. He’s expected to have a large set of skills, therefore it’s nothing to bat their eyes at.

Either way, she doesn’t see him nearby, he must have gone straight to his room after talking to you. Alyssum’s probably going to do the same, and take a hot shower to try and relax. She has a feeling that it’s going to be nearly impossible to do, considering her whole life in the arena depends on this score.

“How was it?” you ask, turning your body to her more.

Alyssum wanders forward, “I didn’t mess up once.”

A smile appears on your face, “That’s great!”

“When do we get to see the scores?”

“After dinner,” Elysia sits up slightly, “The stylists will be joining us, too.”

Alyssum makes a face, “I’m gonna go shower and get ready, then.”

She doesn’t wait for either of them to say anything else, heading up the steps and into the hallway so that she can go to her room. She only gets a few steps in before stopping near her door, holding her breath. She can faintly hear that you and Elysia have resumed your conversation, and waits to see if she can hear anything about Paslee.

The only thing she’s able to catch is that Paslee is also confident that he scored highly. After that, the door in front of her opens, and Alyssum barely has enough time to jump to pretend she’s still going for her room. Paslee stands in the doorway, staring at her, eyes slowly lowering into a squint.

She smiles, “Just came back.” 

She leaves, makes sure that her door shuts behind her, and goes the extra mile to lock it to ensure that there won’t be any unwanted guests. If Paslee thinks that he did well during his session, then that means she should expect a score higher than eight tonight. For her, it’s unheard of for any twelve year old to get higher than a seven, but judging by the Gamemaker’s reactions, she might just barely make the cut that qualifies her as a career.

All she can do right now is cross her fingers and hope.

Alyssum picks out a nice outfit for the dinner, and then wanders into the bathroom. She peels off the training outfit, which has begun to feel like a second skin during these past couple of days. Of course, she’s given a freshly cleaned outfit everyday, but that doesn’t mean that they stink from sweat any less.

In the shower, she washes herself from head to toe, and it isn’t until she’s done, does she realize just how scorching hot the water is. And with her senses finally returning to her--after reliving her private session with the Gamemakers the entire shower--she shuts off the water and rubs at her skin carefully, not liking the sensitive feeling. 

Her body and hair is blow-dried, she pulls on her new outfit, feeling much better already. She brings a couple of hair ties with her to the window in her room, sitting on the floor to watch the city below. She can’t imagine the frenzy that the Capitol people must be in right now, desperate to get their evening activities done as soon as possible before the scores air.

She ends up with a bun on the back of her head, wanting her hair to be off the back of her neck.

She sits there for a while, watching the cars below. Her thoughts are stuck on her brothers, what they’re doing at the moment, if they’re calm, if they’re worried. This is the second time that they’re having to go through this, an occasion that doesn’t happen often. Of course, siblings volunteer all the time, like Marsh and Paslee, but the chances of them winning are slim. Very few can come out like Gloss and Cashmere, sibling victors who are very good friends of yours.

The difference here is that Alyssum didn’t volunteer, she was chosen, just like how you were chosen nine years prior. And her odds are low, lower than yours ever were. If she’s going to make it out alive, she’s going to have to be sneakier, more clever than you ever were, which is going to be impossible to do. The wolf in sheep’s clothing tributes never make it very far anymore.

Not to mention, she’s already fucked up her chances at playing that role off, anyway. Her stunt in the gymnasium gave her attitude away to everyone in that room, and the careers didn’t make it a secret that she was going to be a target. She knows that she shouldn’t beat herself up over it, especially considering that she’s done that enough already, but she screwed herself over. 

Royally.

About half an hour later, there’s a knock at her door. It’s Elysia, telling her that dinner is ready when she is. Alyssum pulls on a pair of flats before leaving her room to join everyone else at the table. Just as Elysia had promised earlier, the stylists are at the table.

Alyssum takes her spot at the table, and immediately there’s questions being asked about their private sessions. She’s a little stingy on the answers, she’s not allied with Paslee anymore, which means that whatever information she gives up about herself now, can be spun and told to the careers. For Paslee, however, he doesn’t spare details.

She has a feeling that it’s because he wants to build an image for you and Finnick, that he’s not all bad and he does have some potential. It also might have something to do with earlier, when she was basically caught eavesdropping. She waits patiently for him to finish what he’s saying, since she already found a way to crumble the flimsy sandcastle he’s been building.

“That reminds me,” Alyssum says, looking between you and Finnick, “Is it normal for the Gamemakers to be just… silent?”

You sit up, “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, “They weren’t talking or anything, during or after I was showing them my skill.”

Elysia turns her attention to Paslee, who’s beginning to lose the smile on his face, “What about you?”

“I--um,” his face twists, “A few of them were talking, but most of them were watching me.”

You and Finnick are sharing a look. Finnick tilts his head to the side, turning his attention back to the food in front of him, “Well, can’t say I’m surprised.”

“To answer your question,” you begin slowly, “No, that isn’t normal. I didn’t even have undivided attention.”

Finnick nods in agreement, “We should talk later on why that happened.”

Alyssum nods, eating her food while trying not to smile. The bragging from Paslee is done, she can tell by his sudden interest in his food, which he had been shunning earlier. 

Once everyone is done eating, they migrate to the living room, where they all take their different positions while they wait for the scores to air. Alyssum has her legs criss-crossed beneath her, rubbing her knees to bring them some warmth. 

Once Caesar is done with the formalities, he jumps right into scores, starting with District One, boys first. The boy gets a nine, the girl an eight, the boy’s score is normal, but Alyssum finds herself hung up over the girl’s score. What did she do to be so terrible? There’s hardly any time to think about it, as Cato gets a ten and Clove gets the same.

She hums.

A hand appears on her shoulder, giving it a small massage. It’s you, it’s always your go-to move when Alyssum is feeling stressed or nervous. She has to admit that this is an unforeseen twist of events. Clove is a lot better than Aly took her for, which means that it’s going to come back and bite later.

Paslee’s face appears on screen, Caesar gives a nod, and then announces that his score is a ten, too. Cheers and congratulations rain on him, as it’s a big achievement. Alyssum isn’t as worried about Paslee as she is about Clove. She already knows that he’s not allowed to directly kill her, he’ll just be messing with his relationship with you and Finnick. Which is not a gamble that most tributes want to play with their mentors.

When it’s Alyssum’s turn, the room falls into a hush, the anticipation building. Her picture comes in, and Caesar takes a moment to look over the score. A proud smile builds on his face, looking at the camera again before he says, “Alyssum Gallows, with a score of eight.”

More cheering, Alyssum can feel the balloon pop and dissipate in her chest, relief taking over. She scored high, that’s all she wanted. She’s allowed within the career playground now, she’s one of them. All there’s left to do is blow away the competition during the interviews and she’s golden for the arena.

“Amazing!” Elysia cheers, clapping quickly.

“Never done before, I don’t think.” Laurel says to Pleurisy, she’s nodding in agreement.

You pull Alyssum in for a hug, “Good job, Aly.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you and Finnick,” she murmurs back, squeezing your arm.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Paslee asks.

Elysia clears her throat and stands, she’s probably going to be the first to leave, “You two will be preparing for the interviews, there’s a lot of work to do on you both. I will start with Alyssum, you’ll be with (Y/n) and Finnick for four hours, and then we’ll switch. You’ll get more details about what you’re doing tomorrow, I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Paslee stands, and stretches his arms above his head with a yawn.

“We’ll get you up tomorrow if you’re not already.” Finnick says.

“Thank you,” he starts out of the living room, “For the training all these years, it looks like it paid off.”

“Just keep up with that spirit and we’ll be even,” you tell him, “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

Just as he takes off to his room, Caesar’s finishing up with District Twelve. Their tributes normally always score low, so no one normally pays attention, yet the television hasn’t been shut off just yet. Alyssum watches as Peeta receives an eight, making Paslee stop moving, halfway into the hallway already.

The room’s buzz dies out into silence once again, which means that no one misses when Katniss gets an eleven.

Alyssum stares for a moment, and then looks over to Paslee, who seems to be just as awestruck as she is. She may only be twelve, but never in her life has she seen a Twelve tribute score any higher than a five, which is their average score in the first place. Aly can’t help it when she looks at you and Finnick, waiting for some sort of a reaction.

It comes from Laurel first, “That stylist of hers has really set the stage for them.” she’s scowling, “We should get going so we can fix the interview outfits again.”

Pleurisy gets to her feet, “And we were nearly done this time, too. We’ll see you later.”

They leave, the door shutting behind them with a click. No one wants to move from where they’re standing or sitting. It’s a few more beats before you clear your throat, getting to your feet, “Well, she sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

“We should go have that talk on the balcony,” Finnick says.

“Do you think that it was a mistake?” Paslee asks hopefully.

“The Gamemakers never make a mistake that severe,” Elysia snuffs, heading to leave.

You nod, “She’s right, Katniss must have done something fantastic in order to get a score that good. My only advice to you now is not to go after Katniss purposely.”

He nods, turning away and going up the steps. He disappears into the hallway, Elysia is nowhere to be seen. The only people left are the Gallows family, gathered together in a triangle, sharing a look of doubt between them. You let out a sigh, placing your hand on Aly’s lower back as you guide her to the balcony, where the wind will be too loud to try and eavesdrop through.

“What exactly happened?” you ask her, and Alyssum doesn’t waste time reciting her time with the Gamemakers. From beginning to end, every single detail is given up, and it’s clear that she’s been dying to share, because she forgets to take breaths of air between sentences.

By the time she’s done speaking, she’s waiting anxiously for your guys’ assessment of what happened, and what it means. It obviously has to be good in some aspect, considering that she just pulled an eight. The other twelve year-old girl had only gotten a seven, which is pretty good, considering her odds, but it’s not career worthy.

“I feel like they were holding back on her score,” Finnick murmurs, leaning up against the railing, staring out at the city lights, “If she didn’t miss a single target with perfect accuracy, she should’ve gotten a higher score.”

“Yeah, but if they scored her higher, then that means she would have a bigger target on her back.”

“Publicity, though.”

“And they’d have to admit that not only is District Four training their tributes, so are One and Two. They’d have to do something about it.”

“She’s your sister, though. We know the way they score tributes and why they do it, she should have gotten a nine.” Finnick looks at you.

“You got a nine,” you remind Finnick, “And with what you showed them, they would have to reevaluate their whole scoring system just to allow her to be a nine.”

“That’s my point, they’ve changed so much, this shouldn’t have been a big deal.”

A sigh escapes you, “I’m grateful for the fact that she even got an eight in the first place. Like I said earlier, she would’ve had a bigger target on her back, and we already agreed that she should be watching her moves so the careers aren’t going after her specifically.”

Finnick makes a face, not liking this conclusion, but turns his attention back to Aly anyway, “You did good, kid. As for Katniss and Peeta, I would be careful trying to be their ally. You know that the careers will want them now.”

“Take advantage of that,” you cup her face, making her look at you, “Their eyes won’t be on you, which is a perfect distraction.” 

You place a kiss on her forehead, “I’ll try.”

“Good.” you say, “Go to bed, Elysia will be working you from start to end. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love you.”

“I love you too, Aly.”

--

When Elysia wakes Alyssum the following morning, she waits by the door until Alyssum sits up, after that she takes off. Aly takes her time going through the closet, since there’s no set outfit that Laurel had planned. She throws on some jeans and a shirt, then moves onto the bathroom to do the rest of her morning routine.

By the time she’s done and moving onto the dining room, everyone is already at the table eating. She takes her seat, and listens as you, Finnick and Elysia go back and forth on meaningless things. Mostly about the scores and what the other tributes had gotten. It seems as if you and Finnick went back to rewatch the scores, just in case any other big scores were missed. 

And they had, the boy from District Eleven had scored a ten, not a big surprise. Both Paslee and Alyssum offer up what little information they observed inside of the Training Center. Just that he’s intimidating and is clearly hiding some serious skills, as he didn’t do much when it came to training.

When food comes at a slow pace, it’s time to get the four hours started. Alyssum drinks the rest of her hot chocolate, wipes her mouth, and follows Elysia back to her room. 

It’s clear that Elysia has been doing this for years, because there’s not a single second of hesitation in her movements. She pulls out a long dress and heels for Alyssum to put on while she rearranges the chairs to fit her needs. Before Alyssum is allowed to sit, she’s required to walk around the room to allow Elysia to assess her.

She’s wobbly, it’s not a secret. There are several times where Elysia jerks to catch Aly when she begins to fall. Elysia mentions something about the carpet isn’t helping, but that doesn’t mean they get to change environments. They spend a good thirty minutes on just this, and by the end of it, Aly’s not half bad.

The next three and a half hours are tiring. Elysia fixes posture, corrects the way she sits several times, and has a whole segment on tweaking manners. A smile at the end of every sentence, or at the beginning, how to do a polite pause--Aly can’t believe that’s even a thing--and so on. She’s sure that Elysia is making it all up, until she gives a perfect example of all of her teachings thrown together in just a sentence.

Alyssum is dumbfounded.

“Well?” Elysia asks after a long moment of silence.

Alyssum’s face is twisted, “I feel like I could skip over all of this and the Capitol wouldn’t care.”

Elysia lets out a laugh, covering her mouth, “You’re lucky my four hours is over. It’s time for lunch.”

Alyssum changes back into her original outfit, helps Elysia put the room back together, and finds that Paslee is still working with you two. It isn’t until Alyssum has sat at the table, and is begun to be served lunch, do you realize that time is up.

Lunch is quick, Alyssum offers Paslee good luck in passing. She can’t imagine what he’ll be doing for four hours with Elysia if that’s what she just went through. He’s confused, she smiles, and joins you and Finnick in the sitting room while Elysia directs him to his room.

Alyssum doesn’t even get to sit down before Finnick is turning to you, “Okay, let me speak and then you can object.”

You raise your eyebrows, “So it’s not going to be something that I like?”

“Hear me out first.” Finnick says, and then looks at Alyssum, “If we tried to do some delicate personality on her, then she'd be looked over, which is what I originally suggested. However, laying low was ruined her first day of training, so we can’t just keep working with it.”

You stare at Finnick, “You’re suggesting we try and make her aggressive? Do you see her?”

“The Capitol doesn’t know what happened that first day of training, but the other tributes did. And now that everyone has seen her score, any facade that we were trying to give off, is ruined. There’s no point in trying to fool the other tributes.” Finnick explains, “That was the whole point of her being careful, right?”

“Yes, but I’m not entirely sure how the Capitol is going to react to her being anything other than innocent.”

He smiles, “Won’t know until we try.”

“This is not a game.”

“It isn’t, and still we took a chance exactly like this when we sent Marsh into the interviews with a comedy skit.” 

It’s weird for Alyssum to see you and Finnick like this outside of the boarding school. You two have your moments like these all the time, banter back and forth until a solution is worked out. It’s how the two of you work through problems, minor or not. No matter what happens, though, you two never do it at home. And if you do, it’s never been in front of Alyssum.

Either way, Alyssum thinks that he’s won you over.

“Okay, say we do go through with this,” you start, Finnick sits up taller, “What’s her play? She’s not intimidating, she’s too small for that. She doesn’t look aggressive, and proved that during the tribute parade, and she’s my sister.”

“Exactly, she’s your sister. They all know what happened during our games, how we won, how we got there. It doesn’t matter what she looks like or what she did, she just has to try right now. It’s all about playing pretend.”

There’s a pause of silence as you look her over, gears turning in your head, “Okay, what do you suggest?”

“Aloof.”

Their eyes turn back to Alyssum, she raises her eyebrows, trying not to smile.

“We can make that work.”

They start getting to work on her after that, giving examples on how she can be aloof. Once again, she finds out that she’s really not bad at it, if she relaxes enough, it can come naturally. When they’re sure she has the personality down, they begin the questions that force her to open up or shut them out in order to keep it intact.

She’s good at it, picking which questions get to pass long enough to tell the Capitol a little about herself. They already know about her family, even if all the information is outdated now. She needs to tell them about her, how she went from that toddler in the family interview to a girl earning an eight on her training score.

After talking about herself, she’s then asked to say some stuff about the Capitol. It doesn’t come as naturally, since you and Finnick haven’t made your hatred for the Capitol a secret by any means. It’s rubbed off on her over the years, and recently it’s only begun to get worse. She’s stuck trying to find little things that will satisfy the Capitol’s curiosity on her experience thus far.

When she’s told to stop, she’s relieved but worried. You lean back on the chair you sit in, stretching your arms above your head, “She’s too much like me, I clammed up when it came to the Capitol, too.”

“Then don’t talk about the Capitol,” Finnick suggests, “Change the topic to something else, like home.”

“That would work better.” You say, readjusting.

And so it starts again, this time much smoother. You’re satisfied with her answers, shift gears, and tell her that in the last hour that you three have together, she’s going to pretend as if she’s actually being interviewed. You’ll be the one asking questions, Finnick will be the audience and judge by how they would react, and Alyssum has to throw all of her knowledge together. This includes what Elysia had taught her.

She doesn’t know how you know so many questions, or why they come so effortlessly, but there’s hardly a break between questions. Finnick will gasp, clap, sit in silence, and shake his head depending on answers. If it’s appropriate, she’ll elaborate on answers, which Finnick will nod encouragingly to tell her that it’s good and she should keep going. 

The second that their four hours is up, Alyssum is on her feet, ready to be done with the mock interview. Her jaw hurts from talking so much, and she’s got a headache going on. At least you and Finnick seem to be satisfied with her results, because it’s nothing but smiles on your guys’ part.

Elysia comes out a minute later, dusting her hands and placing them on her hips, “They’re ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, they are.” You agree.

Dinner is quiet and uneventful, both tributes had been given more than enough time to learn everything needed. They eat their dinner, and stick by long enough for you to tell them that they don’t have matching outfits for the interviews anymore. The two of them had completely forgotten to update Laurel and Pleurisy about it.

“Thank us later,” Finnick smiles.

“It still has the same idea to it, doesn’t it?” Alyssum asks.

“For you, yes. Paslee has something different.” You say.

Paslee shrugs, not bothered, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“The stylists aren’t starting at noon tomorrow, so I wouldn’t stay up late if I were you.”

He doesn’t say anything back. Alyssum begins to push her plates and bowls away from her, getting ready to leave. She can imagine that it’s going to be a busy morning tomorrow, and knowing her nerves, she’s not going to be able to fall asleep easily. 

“I’m going to go, too.” she says, smiling, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Aly. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she chirps, heading into her room.

She stands before her bed for a few seconds, not feeling tired. A part of her just wants to sit in the shower and let the warmth rain on her, but she knows that the prep team will undoubtedly have her do that tomorrow, anyways. 

Alyssum lays in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, occasionally out the window. She misses her bed, back home it wouldn’t matter if she’s exhausted or not, she could always fall asleep in her bed. Not to mention all the soft blankets that she’s collected over the years. The only way she’ll ever feel comfort like that again, is if she somehow manages to pull off a win.

She’s got a footing, she can’t deny it. Laurel is her stylist, you’re her older sister, Finnick’s her brother-in-law. She’s been training for five years now, Paslee too. There’s spotlight on her, she’s managed to score an eight, and made semi-friends with Katniss and Peeta.

All she has to do is not screw this up, which is easier said than done.

She’s twelve years-old, no one has ever won at twelve, Finnick is the youngest victor for a reason. She made enemies with another career, who’s fifteen and bigger than her, and scored a ten. Clove is going to have some influence over the career pack, which means that if she wants to hunt down Alyssum, she’s not going to get any opposition.

And Alyssum doesn’t have any real allies, she has to keep that in mind too. Katniss and Peeta were a nice thought, but she didn’t secure any sort of deal with them. She’s on her own inside of the arena, and that can be the safest bet sometimes. Only, when situations get sticky, it’s good to have that extra pair of hands.

She’s screwed inside of that arena, and that’s all she can think about.

The prep team scares Alyssum awake when they appear in the morning. Cleo’s pulling her into a sitting position, she can hear the shower running in the bathroom, and Leo is pulling chairs around to rearrange the room. She and Elysia had worked so hard to get everything looking back to normal too…

“Rise and shine!” Cleo laughs, “You sleep like the dead.”

No, that’s not right. Alyssum doesn’t even remember falling asleep, much less getting drowsy. It must have been some time after three did she fall asleep, because that’s the last time she checked the clock before rolling over to stare out the window again.

“What time is it?” Aly asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Ten thirty, which is why we’ve got to start.”

She follows their directions, dragging her feet the entire way. They start with a shower to jumpstart her, pressing buttons that she hadn’t considered using before. They wash her hair, and make her use a special body wash so she smells sugary. When she’s done, her hair is like silk and almost doesn’t feel real.

They dress her in undergarments, and that’s as far as they go with clothing. Beth takes her time on Alyssum’s hair, humming a song to herself. Cleo and Leo go back and forth between talking and arguing about certain things. No matter what happens, Beth doesn’t get in the middle of it.

All of her nails are painted white with hollow pink circles placed in specific areas. Once Cleo moves out of the way, Leo gets to work with makeup. It’s the last time she’s able to see what Beth is doing to her hair, which has so far consisted of straightening it. Beth must’ve been waiting for this part, because it’s when she really starts getting to work.

Laurel must want the reveal to be a surprise, then. Alyssum gets comfortable with her eyes closed, tuning in and out when she feels like pitching in her own opinions. Mostly she’s letting her imagination take her on a ride on what the arena might look like. The possibilities are endless, of course. If it doesn’t have anything to do with water, she hopes it won’t be a desert, at the very least.

Alyssum can’t stand hot climates, she’d rather freeze at night than spend an entire day sweating, going back and forth getting water. Dehydration is a nightmare, and she won’t want to live through it long enough to be declared a victor.

Beth then says she’s done, spraying hairspray on Alyssum’s hair, it smells just as good as her body wash did. They have to wait until Leo is done before they have her get up and turn her back to the mirror and window. Cleo shakes a can, Aly holds her arms out so that Cleo can get to every single area.

The initial spray is cold, but the longer she circles Alyssum, the more she gets used to the feeling. Whatever it is, it’s glittery, just not to the point that it’s overwhelming. When Alyssum manages to sneak a wipe on the wall, curious if it’ll transfer, it stays stuck to her skin.

“Don’t worry,” Leo says, as if he’s reading her mind, “It’ll come off when you shower tonight.”

That’s good news, she won’t be an obvious target each time she steps into the sun.

She continues to stand in the corner, waiting for Laurel to finally come by. Cleo twists hair around her finger, listening to Beth talk about what she plans to do with her hair. All it takes is for Leo to ask her to do his hair too, and she lightens up and asks what he wants done. This is the most Alyssum’s heard Beth talk since she got here.

As soon as the door opens, conversation dies out. Alyssum is instructed to close her eyes again while Laurel looks her over. Once it’s approved, the dress is brought in, and Alyssum has to navigate it with her eyes closed. Cleo is there to hold her hand and steady Aly when she needs it, but for the most part she’s useless. After the dress, comes the heels.

She expects she’ll be allowed to open her eyes after this part, but they insist on putting the finishing touches on her first. Dangly earrings, she can tell by the feeling. A few rings on her fingers, a necklace, one bracelet, and even go as far to give her an ankle bracelet too. Then Beth remembers the headband that she was supposed to put on Alyssum,

“She’s beautiful.” Cleo sighs, “Can we show her now?”

“Yes,” Laurel says, she sounds happy too.

Alyssum is shuffled in front of the mirror, and with a countdown from her prep team, she’s allowed to open her eyes. She doesn’t recognize who stands in front of her. Alyssum has dressed up at home before, the day of the reaping being a good example of that, however she’s never gone this far before.

Her hair is down and curled at the ends, and the white fabric headband in the middle. She can’t pinpoint what color her eyeshadow is, each time she moves her head to get a better angle to look at herself, it changes into a different pastel color. She knows she has rainbow highlights on her cheeks, at the very least. She also has winged eyeliner and fake eyelashes to bring more attention to her face.

Her earrings are rose gold and have little flowers spread throughout the chain. As for her dress, the upper half is like a tank top with how thick the straps are, it's a very smooth material. And the bottom half of it resembles layered petals, almost like a rose, that ends at her knees. It’s stiff enough to keep the bell look, but moves when touched. It has that lenticular look that her eyeshadow does, only with more glitter--that also doesn’t transfer.

The bracelet is a simple gold chain with dainty flower charms on it, her rings are also gold. Some have flowers, others have little designs that keep with the theme that Laurel has given her. Her ankle bracelet matches the one on her wrist, and her shoes are see-through with straps around her ankles.

No matter how she moves, she catches the light and changes colors. The colors match, too. Alyssum’s not sure how they managed to pull that one off, but they did it perfectly. If her eyeshadow goes green, so does her dress. However, it seems as if the colors mostly keep in the range of red, pink or orange. 

“This is amazing,” Alyssum moves to a different angle, and catches the light pink that they must have been modeling the outfit after.

“It was your idea.” Laurel smiles.

“You managed to pull it off, though, I can’t take the credit for this,” Alyssum looks at her stylist, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she looks at her watch, “I think it’s time for us to get to the elevator, so look her over.”

The prep team circles Alyssum for a full minute, checking and double-checking areas to make sure they aren’t missing anything. Once they’re sure they haven’t missed anything, they escort Alyssum out of her room and straight to the elevator. Elysia is standing by it, talking to you and Finnick. You two have also dressed up for the occasion.

“It’s a shame I’m not your stylist anymore, because you two look like shit.” Laurel says, causing you and Finnick to turn around.

“Excuse me?” your voice is sharp, “We made your career, the least you could have is some respect!”

Finnick places his hands on his hips, “What she said.”

You can’t hold the serious face you were trying to keep, a snort comes from Finnick as you dissolve into laughter. Once the two of you are collected enough, your attention turns to Alyssum, “Look at you! Reed and Mox are going to love this.”

Alyssum smiles, doing a small curtsy, “Will Caesar be able to compare us?”

“No, not at all,” Laurel says, “We designed you specifically like this to avoid any comparisons, you need to be yourself for just one night.”

“I was in blue and silver, you’re in the clear, trust me.” you smile.

“And pink is definitely your color.” Finnick says, you elbow his ribs.

“I can’t believe you guys got done before Pleurisy.” Elysia says, “That’s a miracle.”

Finnick clears his throat, “You didn’t hear it from me, but apparently Paslee was acting like a diva.”

Elysia coughs, trying to hide her laugh. Alyssum presses her lips together, looking at the elevator. You and Finnick share two different looks, trying to get the other to lose it. Laurel shakes her head for a long while… until Cleo snorts and the hallway erupts into laughter.

Which is right on time for the door to open and Pleurisy to walk out, rolling her eyes, “Sorry we’re late.”

Paslee is the last out of the apartment, dressed in a gentle pink suit that has a white undershirt. He gives a smile to Alyssum, raising his eyebrows as if he’s impressed. With what she just heard, though, she can’t help but laugh.

“Let’s go,” Elysia says, pressing the button to the elevator.

They all crowd inside, being careful to conceal the two tributes in the middle of bodies, not wanting them to be the first people seen when the doors open. Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy lead them out just far enough for you and Finnick to say what you want to before the interviews.

“Okay,” you breathe, “I hope you two already realize that you’re mildly matching.”

“Yes,” Paslee says, Alyssum nods.

“No back-handed compliments to the Capitol,” Finnick starts, “they don’t like it, and neither would you two. Compliment them on something at least once during the interview if you can fit it in, don’t force it.”

“Tell the truth as much as you can, if you have to lie to keep things interesting, we’ll lie with you. The sky is your limit, just keep the boarding school out of it at all costs, we can’t let it get shut down.” You continue, “Keep in character, don’t go out of it. They know it’s a facade already, but they love pretending it’s real.”

“If you don’t like a question, let Caesar down gently. Be short, yet give enough information to make sure it satisfies and move onto another topic. He’ll never go back and bring it up again. He’ll likely split it up into three categories.” Finnick holds out his fingers, “The Capitol, family, and you. He’s going to stress on the last two because you’re siblings of tributes that have gone in before. You’re like an update, and the Capitol will eat it up.”

You smile, “If either of you get nervous, we’re in the crowd, and so are your stylists and prep teams. Find us if you need reassurance, but you have to look around, especially to the balconies. Don’t forget the people up there.”

It’s silent for a beat or two, and then Finnick’s lips are also turning upwards into a smile, “It’s only three minutes.”

Alyssum and Paslee are told to stand behind the District Three tributes, with Aly in front of him. Unlike the private training session, for the interviews, it’s ladies first. Which is good, because Alyssum doesn’t want to be shadowed by Paslee.

With tributes arriving slowly, she’s able to take in how the interviews are going to work. As soon as everyone is in line in the correct order, they’ll be brought outside to the stage, where Capitol citizens will be waiting in a large crowd, the most expensive of them will be on private balconies.

All tributes will be on stage for the interviews, just sitting on chairs behind Caesar while he goes through them one by one. Alyssum will have to be careful on how she reacts to tributes and what they’re saying, and be even more careful with her posture. 

The last pair of tributes arrive, and one-by-one they all get onto stage, heading toward their seats in the back. Alyssum is only on the bottom step, not even in sight of the Capitol just yet, and she can feel a sickness sprout in her throat, a headache beginning at the sight of all the bright lights.

Tonight is going to be miserable.

She steps on stage, and offers the crowd a shy smile. In a small glimpse she’s able to see that they’re all standing, none of them are sitting. All streets leading up to the City Circle are packed with brightly colored people dressed in various styles. She notes that not all balconies are occupied by the expensive Capitol people, but Gamemakers and cameras instead. It doesn’t ease her nerves at all.

She takes her seat in the white chair, making sure to cross her legs and sitting as straight as possible. Paslee, who’s sitting to her left, readjusts to do the same. The two of them whisper quietly about how everyone back home is watching. District Four is waiting eagerly to see what you and Finnick have cooked up this year. She hopes they’re satisfied.

Caesar bounces on stage as soon as his cue is given, the crowd roars, clapping and cheering for him. This year, his hair is a light blue, and so is the gloss on his lips. He wears a matching midnight blue suit that twinkles like stars with how many light bulbs are attached to it.

He makes sure that the audience is in a light mood by cracking a few jokes, and quickly introduces Glimmer before they have a chance to retreat. Alyssum stares blankly, watching as each career comes and goes, how they’re acting in front of the Capitol, how Alyssum can replicate it when it finally comes to be her turn.

It’s all very light on her end, figuring that she’ll be able to be gentle with the aloof idea. Then Clove finishes her interview, and gives Alyssum a certain look on the way back to her chair, and suddenly the competition has started. She can’t help the smirk that curls onto her face.

As soon as the District Three boy sits, Alyssum prepares to stand.

“May I introduce District Four’s very own Alyssum Gallows?” Caesar asks slyly, motioning back with his hand. The Capitol’s cheers are loud, almost deafening.

Alyssum gets to her feet, forcing the smile to hide. She has to look indifferent, or else the aloof idea won’t work. She stands tall, and walks carefully to the center stage. Reed and Mox are back home, on the edge of their seats, she can just feel it. You have told your story to the boarding school a thousand times, you were sweet during your interviews.

Now it’s Alyssum’s turn to be the opposite.

As soon as she stops in front of Caesar, grabbing his hand for the handshake, the three minutes have begun. It’s her time to be memorable, and she needs to fight to be seen as one of the careers, even if she won’t be joining them. She’s got the personality for it.

“Alyssum!” Caesar gasps, as if she’s an old friend, “You’re all grown up!”

She raises her eyebrows, looking out to the crowd, “Of course I am, it’s been nine years since you saw me last.”

“Nine years?” He asks incredulously, face twisted in mock horror, “The years aren’t showing, are they folks?”

The crowd shouts back at him, some clapping, others cheering. He lets out a laugh after a moment, waving off the idea that he could ever get old. That’s exactly why they have plastic surgery here. Alyssum almost didn’t believe it when you told her that Caesar has been hosting the Hunger Games for more than forty years.

“That dress is very eye-catching.” Caesar says, “I can’t even pinpoint what color it is!” He laughs.

“That’s because it’s not just one color,” she says as if it’s obvious, “Laurel, my stylist, went with a lenticular design.”

To prove what she said, she moves from side to side, allowing the crowd to see what Caesar means. With all the artificial lighting now that the sun’s down, it gives them the perfect opportunity to see. The crowd cheers, there’s a few stray whistles.

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Caesar awes, “And the bottom half, is it supposed to resemble a flower?”

“Yes, everything on me is flowery.” she hesitates, and then begins slowly, “Actually, it’s supposed to represent the innocence that the Capitol is taking away from me by forcing me to go inside of an arena as a punishment for a problem I didn’t even cause.”

And before the tension can settle, she flashes a smile and forces out a laugh, which Caesar reluctantly joins. Her eyes find you and Finnick in the crowd, you make a pinching motion with your fingers, probably telling her to tone it down. The problem is that she doesn’t want to.

“Well, for such an innocent girl, you scored so high.” He says, trying to move on.

“It runs in the family.”

“I can tell! Does it have anything to do with a special skill?” He asks, a hush seems to fall over the audience, eager to hear this part.

As if she’ll ever give it away, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Oh! I was afraid you’d say that!” He laughs, and looks at the crowd, “I know for sure that people have been on the edge of their seats wanting to know.”

“My only hint is that it relates to my sister in an aspect,” her eyes cast upwards, towards one of the balconies, “Doesn’t it?”

There’s a couple of quick nods coming from the Gamemakers, they know what she’s talking about, “Yes!” one of them shouts.

“A resemblance! As if we don’t have enough of those already!” and then he slows for a moment, “Speaking of which, I have to ask, at the reaping, was the gold dress intentional?”

Alyssum shakes her head, “No, just an unfortunate coincidence.”

There’s a few shouts of agreement, “Yes, I do think so too. I hope it ends up bringing luck in the end. What do you think your brothers thought of it?”

“They probably hated it, watching the youngest get reaped, especially since they’re absolutely helpless in the process. I’m sure that they won’t be wearing gold for generations to come.”

“I think that would be a wise choice,” Caesar agrees, “When you said goodbye, how was it?”

“Hard. They gave me an old necklace that belonged to mom and then made me promise something.” Alyssum can feel her time coming to an end, thankfully, she doesn’t think she can pretend any longer.

“And what did they make you promise?” Caesar asks, a hush falls in the air again.

It’s a lie, but they’ll never know, none of them will ever know. She looks out to the crowd, finding you and Finnick, “To win at all costs.”

The buzzer sounds, Alyssum can feel the relief hit her instantly. The crowd is cheering loudly, clapping, whistling, stomping. She can hardly hear herself think, eyes darting to the nearest camera. She hopes that this performance was good enough for everyone back home. Even if the promise wasn’t actually made, she’s going to bring it to life as best as possible.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Alyssum Gallows from District Four! It was a pleasure talking to you again, Alyssum. I wish you luck on your promise.” Caesar grins.

There has to be some sort of hatred that he’s hiding, because she nearly single handedly ruined the show. There were a hundred things she could have said after he commented on her dress, she just held it in. Not to mention, it definitely would’ve lost the favor of the Capitol.

Alyssum raises a hand to the crowd as a goodbye, and then makes her way back to her chair, ignoring the glares she’s getting from the rest of the careers. Paslee utters out a congratulations, she wishes him luck. He’s going to need it, at this rate she stole the entire show and she was only up there for three minutes. Even though it felt like an entire lifetime. 

Paslee is called up, and Alyssum spends the entire interview trying to figure out what his angle is. If she was aloof--although, she did get hostile at some moments--then what did he have to go with? It comes to her when he keeps making statements that end the same way, he’s being cocky.

She can’t blame you and Finnick for making him act like this, it’s a good word to go off of, especially since he’s been training inside of the boarding school for years now. He’s got all of the experience on lock, and so far she hasn’t seen him doubt himself once.

Caesar’s only a little surprised that he’s getting an attitude like this right after Alyssum, maybe he was hoping only one of them would be bad to deal with. It sucks to be him, she supposes, because the two of them are careers, whether they want to admit it or not. Age doesn’t matter.

She’s expected to be timid, he’s supposed to be loud. It’s nice being able to see their surprise up-close.

His interview ends with a flourish, she’s honestly bored watching every other tribute go after her. It hits a point where they all act the same, since they all scored in the low range and their mentors haven’t seen a victor for years. They’ve lost all originality and rely on old tricks to get them through.

It could be worse, though. They could be from District Twelve, which Alyssum perks back up at, hoping for something good. Katniss gets through her interview, and Aly isn’t surprised when she says she promised her younger sister that she’d win. Her buzzer goes off, it’s Peeta’s turn.

It isn’t until the very end of his interview, does he take the spotlight right from Alyssum, and place it back on them again. She was sure with her attitude that it would be unbeatable, but there’s nothing better than a live love confession in the Capitol. Even she can hear Paslee curse under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Peeta’s in love with Katniss.

She’s glad when the interviews end and she’s able to stand on her feet again. The anthem plays, she raises her head as required, impatient to get off the stage. Once it’s finally over, everyone files into a line, starting with District One, and walks off stage and to the lobby.

Alyssum lets out the biggest sigh as soon as she’s out of sight, curling her hands into fists as she and Paslee go to search for you and Finnick in the sea of bodies. There’s a possibility that it wasn’t intentional, after all, Caesar had led up to that question. Doesn’t mean that he’s to blame for it, though.

“What a waste.” Paslee murmurs, walking beside Alyssum.

“Tell me about it.”

With every passing second, the lobby becomes an even worse nightmare. The two of them end up agreeing on just taking an elevator up to their floor, instead of waiting for their people. Just before Alyssum steps into the elevator with Paslee, she realizes who’s standing inside of it.

It consists of the entire band of careers, she backs off and moves onto the elevator next to it, and finds that it’s not much better. Peeta stands in this one, and it’s packed full with a bunch of other tributes. She sucks it up, presses the Four button, and then picks a wall to stand by until it’s her turn to get off.

Thankfully, it only stops once before hers, letting off the girl from Three. When the doors open again, she slips around people to get out. Paslee is waiting for her in the hallway, together they go inside of the apartment. They’re the first to arrive, which isn’t a big surprise. There’s a lot of people that need to be transferred.

“Quite an interview you had,” Paslee says, probably not wanting to wait in silence.

“I can say the same for you.”

“I’m not sure passive-aggressive was the way to go.”

She looks at him, “Who cares? They’ve probably forgotten about me already.”

The door opens, and one by one, does everyone file in. Instantly, congratulations are falling on the two of them. Briefly, you and Finnick pull her aside to talk about why she went off track, and explain to her that she wasn’t supposed to verbalize the anger, just show it through body language. She’s lucky that she changed her attitude by the end, because that saved her.

Kind of.

With the exception of the prep team, everyone sits at the table for dinner, which is a little more elegant than it was these past couple of nights. The Capitol’s food is always delicious, but tonight is a special occasion. It’s their last night in the Capitol, as tomorrow morning they’ll both be at the arena before ten.

Laurel and Pleurisy keep conversation going by giving out their opinions and who would’ve interested them personally if they weren’t stylists. They end up admitting that Katniss and Peeta have, once again, outshone them all, which is something that Alyssum already figured out. 

She should probably invest a couple of days into looking for either Katniss or Peeta inside of the arena. Even if the two of them aren’t allies, having one of them as her backup is going to be better than no one. Besides, she can’t even entertain the idea of joining the careers.

Of course, that means she’s going to have to get over her growing irritation for the both of them. 

They bring Alyssum and Paslee into the living room so that they can watch a recap of the interviews. She has to admit that it’s very different seeing them from the front than the back or on the television screens provided. Whenever a tribute looks at a certain camera, it’ll flip to that perspective.

She can hardly stomach watching Peeta confess his love again, but she’s happy to see that she’s not the only tribute that reacted negatively--with the exception of Katniss, who was bright red. It makes her realize that there’s a problem with wanting to team up with either of them, Katniss especially.

With all of the attention they’ve been getting lately, the careers are probably seeing them as a threat. If she goes out of her way to find them and it turns out that the careers are hunting them, she’ll be screwed. And the careers will have a field day because they’ll have two tributes they want to kill, right next to each other.

Maybe she needs to do some rethinking.

Elysia is the first to say her goodbyes, hugging Paslee first, but holds onto Alyssum the longest. When she pulls away, there’s tears in her eyes. She wishes the two of them luck, since they won’t be seeing her again after tonight, and then leaves immediately to have a breather.

You and Finnick give them a smile. She can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now, how you might want to react. Alyssum begins to wish that she had spent more time with you in between events, even if that meant she’d be exhausted everyday. It would’ve been better than the guilt that’s settling in her chest.

“Aly, stay out of the cornucopia.” You start, “I don’t care what the reason behind going might be, run in the other direction.”

Alyssum nods.

Finnick looks over at Paslee, “Watch your back, there’s going to be a dozen people in the bloodbath at that moment. You don’t know who’s watching you or what their plans are. Also, don’t go too deep inside, you’ll trap yourself. Wait until you’re absolutely sure that it’s over.”

“Finding water should be both of your guys’ priority. And use common sense inside of the arena, please.” you give them a gentle smile, “No matter what happens, we have your back, remember that.”

“Thank you,” Paslee says.

“Go rest, you’ll be getting up early tomorrow morning.” Finnick says.

Paslee nods, heading up the steps. Alyssum doesn’t move from where she stands, staring up at you and Finnick. The longer the silence settles, the more tears fill her own eyes. She’ll be on her own starting tomorrow morning, and she doesn’t even know what to do. Did she even make progress?

“Come here,” you open your arms for her.

She doesn’t hesitate, crying into your dress.

Alyssum doesn’t want to go.

--

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

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[mshermia]

No.23 - Just Outside The Door

Whumptober 2020 Prompt No. 23 - What's a Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep Around Here

Exhaustion | Narcoplepsy | Sleep Deprivation

Peter did it. He found his mentor and brought him back, but sometimes it all just seemed too good to be true. Sometimes, his mind played tricks on him and he just couldn't sleep, wondering if he had really brought Mr. Stark back or if it had all just been a desperate dream.

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I'm using my own Fix-it to Endgame "Like You'd Know How It Works" as a basis for the timeline, though the prompt will work fine without having read that story. The important part is, that Tony's not dead.

Baseline: a few days after Tony is brought back from the multiverse.

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AO3 Link

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His room was dark. In fact, the entire house was dark as it should be at 1 o'clock at night. Dark and quiet. It wasn't the darkness that bothered Peter. It wasn't total darkness. After all, the light of the moon still shone brightly enough for him to make out the little imperfections in the paint on the ceiling. The moonlight and his enhanced senses. It was the quiet that bothered him, that made his chest seem a little too tight, his breathing a little ragged. It had been just 3 days since Mr. Stark had enhanced the walls in the upstairs bedroom and ever since when Peter was lying awake at night, when a nightmare pulled him out of his sleep in the early morning hours like it had the past days, he couldn't hear his mentor anymore.

He was just a couple of doors down. Logically, he knew that. Logically, he was... he was pretty certain of that. And while Peter had always stopped himself from listening in on anything too personal, there was just a sense of calm that came over him when he heard the man turn in his bed, the low snores he sometimes pushed out, the steady beat of his heart. He would have to concentrate and really listen for the familiar rhythm but once he would pick it up, he'd be okay. He'd remember that Mr. Stark was right there, well, and very much alive.

But not anymore.

There was only silence in his room now unless you were to count the frantic beat of his heart and the deep shaky breaths he sucked in and blew back out. It hadn't even been a nightmare this time, not truly. He hadn't really fallen asleep in the first place. Exhaustion was tugging at the edges of his consciousness and that's where his thoughts had started to spiral.

Mr. Stark was okay. Peter was... he was pretty sure of that. He had succeeded, had brought him back home and now he was okay. But there was a little voice in the back of his head that kept nagging, that kept telling him that maybe... maybe he was wrong. Maybe it had all been a delusional dream, too good to be true, Peter wishing something into reality that was unobtainable. He had seen his mentor die after all. He had died right in front of him, the memory etched into his memory, right there whenever he closed his eyes. Dimensions, time travel... was that really real?

A cold shiver ran down his back and before he knew it, his feet had swung off the bed, silently carrying him to the Stark's bedroom door.

Peter was highly aware that this was a little creepy at best and highly inappropriate at worst. Only for a moment. He wouldn't stay for long. He just needed a few minutes to... to quiet the nagging doubts that were persistently working its way up from the back of his mind overwhelming any rational thought.

As he sunk down to the ground and came to sit his back leaning on the frame, he pressed his ear against the door. There were just enough sound waves vibrating along the sturdy wood for him to hear. It had been a little pathetic how he had come to realize that. How three nights ago at 4 o'clock in the morning he had stolen out of his room and crawled up to the door, out of his mind in panic from the nightmare that had roused him. He had clung to the wood and heard the soft snores on the other side that hadn't been Pepper's.

He could hear them now too, both of them. Peter closed his eyes, letting the noises from the room wash over himself and calm his nerves. Two healthy hearts beating almost in union, deep breaths - a little elevated maybe but nothing critical - and Mr. Stark's low raspy voice, only a whisper. He couldn't quite tell what his mentor had said but the corners of his mouth twitched as Pepper breathlessly giggled in response. They were fine. Mr. Stark, he was right there, talking and moving around if the creaky sounds of the bed were anything to go by he was—

Peter's eyes popped open wide and with a fast push, he shoved himself away from the door. There had been so much force behind his movements that he slammed into the sideboard that stood right opposite the Stark's bedroom door. His heart was beating loud in his ears but his senses were dialed up all the way. He could almost feel Pepper's vases on top of the sideboard swaying back and forth from the impact. Thank god for his senses. His hand reached out faster than his thoughts could follow and caught the first vase as it tumbled towards the ground. He caught the second one, too, but well, despite the spider bite, he still only had two arms to work with.

The third vase fell to the floor and exploded into a thousand pieces just next to him.

For a brief moment, Peter was frozen in shock. For a brief moment, he thought maybe... maybe the soundproofed walls would save him. Maybe nobody had heard.

There was a little light that streamed into the hallway from the Stark's bedroom. "Pete?" His mentor's voice was raspy as his head peaked through the open gap, looking down at him. "You... you okay?"

Peter hurried, his face hot with embarrassment as he tried to gather the shards in the low light of the hallway. "Sorry... sorry!"

"What... what happened? Why are you out here in the dark?"

"Nothing, I just... just needed the bathroom and... and bumped... just... bumped this."

Mr. Stark cleared his throat. "You know, that room of yours has an en suite."

"I... I didn't..." Peter's hands were shaking, his thoughts racing. "I meant... meant kitchen. Just wanted— fuck!"

"Hey, you okay? FRI, lights 30%."

The man leaned over him and reached for Peter's hand. The low light from the ceiling was enough to reveal the dark blood flowing along his skin where he had just cut himself on a pointy porcelain shard.

"Is everything okay?" Of course, Pepper had to poke her head out of the door as well.

"Everything's alright. Go back to bed, darling." Mr. Stark's hand on his shoulder pushed him a little, a clear sign for Peter to get on his feet. "Come on. Kitchen then."

Pepper gasped. "Peter, you're bleeding!"

"It's fine, darling. I'll take care of this." Mr. Stark pulled him towards the stairs. "You... just... just go to sleep."

Mr. Stark exchanged a look with his wife, his face almost apologetic while Peter's was on fire. He hesitated only for a second though before he followed his mentor. Definitely preferable to have only of the two adults hover over him in the kitchen than both of them in the hallway. There was enough light now for Peter to easily find his way towards the stairs and then down to the kitchen. His heart was beating in his throat as he desperately racked his brain for an excuse.

"Little more light, FRI." FRIDAY didn't answer, just followed the man's order. "Run that hand under some cold water and then take a seat, buddy."

"Right," Peter muttered.

The cold water was soothing the sting on his hand. The shard had cut the index and middle finger on his left, the two middle parts, and then there was a deep gash in his palm. It was bleeding freely now and Peter watched almost mesmerized as his blood was swirling down the drain mixed in with the water. The cut was deep enough to hurt, nothing that his body wouldn't be able to deal within a day or two though, three max. Mr. Stark had put down a paper towel for him next to the sink. When Peter's face felt it had mostly regained his original color again, he pressed the paper towel against his hand and shuffled onto one of the bar chairs at the kitchen island.

His mentor had his back turned while he had halfway vanished into the pantry. A little red first aid kit in his hand, he joined Peter at the table. His head was bent, not looking up at the man in front of him. His thoughts were racing, trying to think of something, some kind of excuse as to why he was wandering around the house in the middle of the night, something better than the vague bathroom-kitchen excuses he had blurted out in the hallway.

"Having trouble sleeping, hm?" It was a rhetorical question, that much was clear. Mr. Stark's hands were busy rummaging through the kit until he came up with a couple of anti-bacterial wipes, gauze, and some medical tape. "What's on your mind, kid?" His voice was low and calm, making an effort to keep the mood light.

It didn't change anything about Peter's heart racing of course. Didn't do anything about the blood pulsing in his ears. "I wasn't... I wasn't trying to..." He sounded pathetically breathless even to himself. "I just... I happened to... to walk by and then I just—"

Mr. Stark's hands were warm. They felt even warmer with the chill that the water had left Peter's hand with. One hand curled around Peter's wrist then squeezed him. "Kid, you know I can tell when you're fibbing."

"I... I'm just..."

Another squeeze of his arm and Peter looked up, finding the man's eyes waiting for him. "Nightmares?"

He couldn't lie, not when Mr. Stark had that piercing look in his eyes. "Just... just the usual."

His mentor cocked his head only a fraction to the side. "Titan?"

Goosebumps spread through him starting at his nape down his back, then along his arms. Even Mr. Stark could feel it for his eyes flickered down to where he was still holding Peter's wrist, then back to his face.

"It's... it's not that," Peter whispered. It wasn't even a lie. It hadn't been the orange dust ball that had kept him up, not tonight.

"Kid..." The man blew out a breath, eyebrows pulled closely together.

"I... I swear, it's... it's not!" He almost flinched back at that look in the man's eyes that gleamed an awful lot like disappointment.

Mr. Stark looked away from his face only long enough to find a piece of gauze and replace the soaked paper towel, applying firm pressure to his wound. "You don't sleep."

"I do sleep, tonight was just—"

"Your vitals tell a different story, Pete," his mentor interrupted.

Peter's mouth popped open. There was something other than adrenaline and embarrassment rushing through his veins now. Shock and... and a pinch of betrayal. "You... you have FRIDAY monitor my vitals? Karen?"

"Both of them, actually." Mr. Stark didn't look away from him, only gave his shoulders a slight shrug. "Do I have a choice?" Peter would have turned away from him if the man hadn't still been pressing the gauze to the cut in his hand. "You were snapped and then went on a trip through the Quantum Realm. Of course, I'm monitoring your vitals."

"I'm fine!" His voice was squeaky. He sounded fake even to himself.

"Pete... Talk to me. Is it nightmares or is it something else?"

"Can we just... I don't want to do this right now."

"Alright." Mr. Stark looked away from him. He pulled the blood-soaked gauze off Peter's hand and replaced it with a fresh piece.

This seemed too simple to be true but Peter was going to take it. "O-okay. Good."

"FRI, schedule a call with Helen for tomorrow morning. We need an appointment for Peter. CC Rhodey and... and might as well let Rogers know."

"No. Mr. Stark—"

The man shook his head, eyes on Peter's hand. "You don't have to talk to me about all this. That's fine. You'll talk to someone though. You'll not go out there until this is resolved."

"What? You can't be serious...." Peter pulled his hand away from the man at last.

"I am."

"Are you grounding me?"

His mentor's eyes were on him as he shrugged his shoulders then sighed. "I mean not like... to your room just out of the suit."

Peter got to his feet. "But Mr. Stark—"

"You won't be out there Avenging anything until you've talked to someone about what happened the last time you went out there. That decision's final."

His hand forgotten, Peter paced back and forth between the table and the sink. It wasn't until he rubbed his hands across his face with a frustrated grunt that he remembered the cut. He cursed freely, not just because of the sting in his hand but because he had rubbed blood all over his face. Shaky hands turned on the faucet and for a moment, he was almost thankful for the mishap that had forced him to wash his face for his eyes were burning with frustrated tears.

"Kid, come and sit with me." The man's voice was way too calm, it riled Peter up even more.

"I don't want to!"

"You don't want to sit with me?" He could almost hear in Mr. Stark's voice how his eyebrows must have been pulled up high, his head cocked a little to the side.

"I don't want to talk about this with Rhodey, or Doctor Cho. Definitely, definitely not with Rogers! It's none of his business!"

"Kid, come on..."

"No!" He turned around, facing the man. "You don't get to make those decisions anymore! You're retired!"

"I'm not that retired!" The men went for a light-hearted smirk that surely was meant to calm Peter but only infuriated him more.

"Yes! Yes, you are!"

"Are you firing me from being your mentor?"

Peter froze. Mr. Stark's voice wasn't all that soft any longer and the gravity of the situation suddenly hit Peter all at once. "N-no. No, I—"

"Well, it's not like I want you to talk to them instead of me, but if you don't want to talk to me you leave me with very few options, Peter."

"I'm fine. I... I promise it's—"

"You sat in front of my bedroom door in the middle of the night, Pete." The man shook his head.

"I was... was just being... stupid. I just... just overreacted a bit, I don't—"

"Kid... Come." He pointed at the bad stool next to him. "Come and sit."

Peter swallowed hard. This was so dumb. What had he been thinking? His head bowed low, he slowly shuffled back over to the table and let himself fall back onto the chair. Mr. Stark took his hand again and pressed another fresh piece of gauze onto his cuts. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but Peter couldn't deny that it made him feel a whole lot better how his mentor literally held his hand through all this. It was a little pathetic and childish, but also... also grounding and soothing.

"I... I can't sleep," Peter whispered.

"I know, buddy." The man's other hand squeezed his lower arm. "It's okay."

"I do... I do have nightmares but it's..." He blew out a breath, eyes still low on his hand. "Sometimes, I just can't... can't quite tell what's a nightmare or... or a dream and what's real and if... if all this now, if... if this is just the dream. That's.... that's the worst part."

His lower lip was caught between his teeth and Peter risked a quick look to find his mentor's eyes shining with concern, waiting for him to continue.

"I can't..." He shook his head. "This is so stupid. It's... I'm just being dumb, you really—"

"Hey..." Mr. Stark's hand cupped his face and tilted it up so Peter's eyes would meet his. "You are not being dumb and none of this is stupid."

"I..." Peter tried to swallow the tears that were threatening to overcome him. "I can't... hear you anymore. Since you... since you soundproofed the walls."

"Yeah, well..." The man frowned at him. "That... that was sort of the point, kid."

"I... I know. It's just I..." He turned his eyes to the side, hating how the teardrops were already hanging onto his lashes. "When I wake up and then I don't... I don't hear you then it's like... like before. Like you're.... you're not here and I just... I can't... I can't." He couldn't stop himself from blinking any longer and at last, the tears fell heavy onto his cheeks. "I'm sorry. It's weird. I know, it's super weird."

"Is that why you were in front of our door?"

He wanted to pull away but Mr. Stark still cupped his face, unwilling to let him retreat even an inch. "It's... it's stupid. I don't..."

"Shhh, stop saying that." His hand moved from Peter's face to his neck and a quick tug pulled Peter into a tight hug.

He pressed his eyes tightly shut, his voice muffled against the man's t-shirt. "I can... I can hear you there. Right... right at the door, I'm close enough even with... with the soundproofing. I can still hear you there."

"I'm right here, buddy." His hand was on the back of Peter's head, the other one squeezed his hand almost too strongly. "I'm not going anywhere."

They stayed like that for a while. Peter leaned heavily against him, hiding his tears in the tight embrace. Mr. Stark didn't do much other than hold him and from time to time whisper to him that they would be okay, that he was back now, and how everything would be alright. He repeated those words over and over again like they would stick the more times he'd say them. And maybe that was true. Maybe that was why Peter's pulse slowed down, why his tears dried against the man's shirt, why he calmed enough for Mr. Stark to get back to treating his hand.

Mr. Stark nodded to himself. "Okay, so here is what we'll do from now on." The antibacterial wipes burned and the man froze at Peter's hiss. "Too much? You okay?"

Peter cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he croaked and then grimaced at the sound of his own voice. "Really, I'm fine."

"I know it burns a bit but it's just a moment and we can't have this get infected, okay?"

"I know, Mr. Stark. Just... it's fine."

Peter's eyes were turned down watching as the men wiped the large cut a couple more times, before he first secured gauze over it, then wrapped it in a bandage and proceeded to tape the two smaller cuts on his fingers.

"Okay, two things... Pete, can you look at me?"

"Right," he breathed, his eyes finding his mentors.

"First of all," the man blew out a bit of a sigh. "I think we need to transition away from that 'Mr. Stark' of yours."

His eyes went wide. "But, Mr. Stark—" Peter bit his tongue.

His mentor on the other hand flashed a crooked smile. "Yeah, I thought you might try to fight me on that one."

"I'm not..." Peter shook his head, eyes still round. "I'm not fighting you, I just... it's... you're... you're my mentor and—"

"I am and I'm happy to mentor you for as long as you'll have me." The soft expression on the man's face was comforting and pulling at Peter's nerves in equal measure. "Kid, I'm not really worried about any lack of respect from you going forward. It wasn't..." The man blew out a low huff. "It wasn't my intern that I missed those past years. Though... it's not that I didn't miss that part, I mean..." He crossed his arms in front of himself, eyebrows raised. "It was more work than reward trying to teach Morgan to carry a cup of coffee down here, I can tell you that."

Peter snorted out a light laugh and rubbed his good hand across his eyes.

"It wasn't my intern or... or Spider-Man who I missed, just... just my kid. Just you, Pete."

12 days. Not even 12 days, that was how long his mentor had been lost to him. 5 years? Peter couldn't, well... maybe he could. In a way. He didn't want to think of Ben now though, of his mom and dad.

His mentor blew out a low sigh. "Also, Morgan has started to call me 'Mr. Stark' and just... try with 'Tony'? Please?"

Peter bit his lip, then shrugged. "What if she starts calling you Tony then?"

"Well..." He shrugged. "I just thought that going from 'Mr. Stark' to 'Daddy' might be a bit much to ask of you."

Peter couldn't contain the nervous laughter that bubbled out of him. "I'll never call you that. That's just... no way!"

His mentor's smile stayed on his lips but Peter could shake the feeling that there was an air of disappointment between them.

"That's okay, buddy. Let's stick with 'Tony' then, hm?"

"Right," Peter breathed.

"The other thing... your nightmares. I... I can't really... I can't have you lurking in front of our bedroom door for reasons that... that we don't have to get into right now." He grimaced and Peter could have sworn there was a faint red flush on his cheeks. "But if you can't sleep or if you wake up and you need me—"

"It's... it's fine, Mr—" Peter pressed his eyes close with a cringe. "Tony. It's fine, really, I was just—"

"Hey." His mentor had leaned forward, both hands on Peter's lower arms. There was no hint of humor or reserve in his features now. "This is not a polite offer, kid. This is an assignment. Instructions to be followed."

Peter swallowed hard, his voice cracking. "Yes, Sir."

He didn't even flinch at all as the honorific slipped over Peter's lips, just stared right at him. "I want to help you. I want to be here for you, whenever you need me. That's why you brought me back, right?" His eyes were searching Peter's face for a reaction. "You said that you all still needed me. Morgan and Pepper. And you. That's why I came with you, kid."

Peter's eyes were burning, the memories still fresh from how he had begged and pleaded with the man to trust him, to abandon his mission and come back home with him.

He squeezed Peter's arms, his face still tense. "I want you to tell FRIDAY when you have these nightmares or... or when you panic. I'll find you. I'll sit with you."

"You don't..." He shook his head at the very idea. "You don't have to sit with me."

"Pete..."

"I'm not a kid anymore!"

"You are my kid, kid..."

Peter's mouth fell shut at that. The man's voice was soft, so earnest.

"Just let me help you."

"Okay," Peter breathed.

"When you're not here, when you're at May's or anywhere else, I want you to call."

Peter nodded, his eyes on his mentor's hands. They were still closely curled around Peter's arms but he couldn't deny that it felt more grounding than restricting.

"Promise me."

Peter sucked in a shaky breath before he looked up. "I do, I... I promise, I will."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Mr. Stark's hand reached up and rested on Peter's cheek just long enough for the man to nod at him. "Okay, buddy. Come on then."

Peter didn't have to ask what his mentor was up to, he had a pretty good idea of what would be happening now. His head bowed, he followed along, back upstairs to his room, his thoughts still circling around his mentor's order. That's what it had been, not an offer, not even a request. It had been left unsaid between them what would happen if Peter didn't ask for help, but he could make an educated guess that those consequences would not just be discussed between the two of them.

His bed was cold as he slipped back underneath the covers. Mr. Stark— Tony had closed the bedroom door behind Peter and pulled a chair close to his bed. His feet crossed and elevated on Peter's bed, he had sunk into the chair, one hand resting on the top of Peter's head.

The house was quiet now. His room too, except for the beat of his own heart and that of his mentor. The idea had seemed excessive and childish but now that Peter was lying in the dark, the man's fingers knotted in his hair, he couldn't deny how easy it was to close his eyes. How easy it was to remember that the man was here, alive and well. How all that pain and loss was in the past now.

He had just wanted to blow out a deep breath to settle himself but it wavered in his throat, came out like a bit of a whimper.

"Shhh." Mr. Stark's fingers rubbed back and forth over Peter's scalp. "I'm right here."

"I... I know." Tears rolled off his face into his pillow as Peter pressed his eyes close, his focus on the weight of his mentor's hand. His voice was shaky but what did that matter now? "I'm just... just happy you're back."

"Me too, buddy," he whispered. "Me too."

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I finally managed to write an actual One-Shot. A little amazed with myself, not gonna lie ;)

Hope you liked it! More whump and more for this timeline will come soon!

The Fix-it this is based on: Like You'd Know How This Works

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

And The Dragon Will Come When He Hears The Drum

Here’s the first chapter of my take on @local-space-case ‘s prompt (here’s the original post) The whole thing will probably be 8-10 chapters when it’s done. I’ll also be posting it on AO3.

Also, fair warning: I did not pull my punches on the angst... so yeah, please enjoy.

Chapter 1 - or shall i bring you the sound of poisons

Next chapter >   AO3

Pairings: Logicality, Anxciet

(TW: graphic depictions of violence, blood, character death, graphic imagery)

(The title for this chapter comes from “Elm” by Sylvia Plath)

Roman struggled to his feet, slipping in the snow that had turned to muddy slush amid their battle with the black-scaled dragon. His head swam and his ribs throbbed. The ground rumbled beneath him as the beast let out a guttural roar. His sword. He needed his sword.

There was a sharp snap followed by an explosion of blue light that nearly sent Roman to the ground again. The sheer heat of it turned all the snow to water instantly, turning the clearing into a muddy bog.

“Roman?!” Logan shouted from somewhere out of sight. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, blinking his vision clear. Logan stood several yards away, hands raised and palms spewing rolling waves of blue flame, keeping the dragon at bay for the moment. Roman’s stomach fluttered. His partner looked downright gorgeous with blue light flickering across his face, power alight in his glowing eyes.

Logan noted his expression and sighed. “It’s hardly the time for that, dearest.”

A wolfish grin spread across Roman’s face as he finally got his feet beneath him. “I’ve always got time to be in awe of you, my love.” He located his sword, stuck halfway out of the ground a few paces away.

The dragon was on the smaller side, perhaps ten feet tall at the shoulder and three times as long, tail included. It shied away from the onslaught of magical blue flame. Sure, dragonscale was fire resistant, but that wouldn’t stop the creature’s insides from cooking.

This particular beast had been stealing livestock from the surrounding villages with increasing frequency, so much so that farmers had petitioned the throne for aide. As both captain of the anti-dragon brigade and prince of this land, Roman had a solemn duty to protect his kingdom’s welfare. As for where the rest of the brigade was, the prince was less certain. More than half had been on scouting missions in the complete opposite direction, the rest helping Patton set up a base camp. Hopefully, the sound of their battle would suffice as a call for help.

Surely, the dragon should have retreated by now, but it seemed determined to take the three sheep it had killed. Roman and Logan now stood between it and its bounty.

Logan’s fire spell sputtered out, and he swayed with fatigue, the clearing significantly darker without the light. He rubbed his eyes, steadying himself against a tree. Roman took the cue and charged, sword ready to attack. The dragon growled, lips curling up over glistening fangs, violet flames licking through the gaps. Roman raised his dragonscale shield preemptively—a smart move considering it was only second later the beast let loose a violet blaze, the flame curling around his shield and singeing his forearms. Roman’s sword grew hot in his grip, but he didn’t let go.

The dragon turned, and Roman cursed. He couldn’t lower his shield in time to see what it was going to—

Roman heard the hollow whistle of the dragon’s tail whipping through the air before he saw it. His instincts told him to watch the head, note the rotation of the body. It was much too far to do him any serious damage, so why…

Roman’s heart bottomed out. He heard the impact, a pitiful thing like someone smacking a stray fly, and the chilling crunch of soft-human-body meets hard-spiked-tail. Logan flew across the clearing, tumbling to a limp, bloody stop. Blood pounded in Roman’s ears as what could either have been a battle cry or a horrified wail tore from his throat. The sound was raw, primitive almost. Even the dragon hesitated.

Good, Roman thought as adrenaline pumped through him. All the better to kill you, beast.

Roman wasn’t magical in the technical sense. He wasn’t a warlock like Logan, or a healer like Patton. He had no formal training aside from combat, and yet his those of royal lineage were somewhat known for their random bursts of mystical power. Something to do with being a prophecy-bearer, scholars figured. Roman, frankly, couldn’t care less. All he felt was pure rage coursing through him. Power filled him and he felt as if he’d vibrate right out of his own skin. The tears falling down his cheeks evaporated, leaving behind salty trails.

Roman flipped his grip on his sword and pulled it back like a javelin. With a heart-wrenching cry, he let it fly. The sword shot through the air like an arrow, glowing with the full force of a prince’s rage. The dragon reeled back, trying to dodge, but it couldn’t get out of the way fast enough.

The blade sunk hilt deep into the creature’s chest. Low enough that Roman was sure it hadn’t pierced its heart, but certainly a lung. The dragon beat its wings, blood frothing at the corners of its fanged mouth and wheezing roar limping out of its throat. The beast rose into the sky and disappeared in a frantic retreat over the tips of the trees.

Roman was left trembling in the wake of his sudden power, its absence leaving him feeling hollow. He’d lost his sword, but he didn’t care. Roman could barely make out the motionless lump that was Logan in the quickly waning evening light as he stumbled through the watery field. The water around Logan was dark with blood.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, terrified. Roman fell to his knees at his side, mud filling his boots like cement. He flipped the warlock over and felt as if someone had closed a fist around his heart and squeezed it to bursting. Logan’s chest was a collection of impossibly deep gashes, his chest odd and indented where the dragon’s tail had crumpled it in on itself like he was no more substantial than a doll with paper bones. Roman’s eyes trailed miserably up his lover’s body, finding his collarbone just as crushed as the rest of his body. Blood flecked one side of his neck and face, his eyes open and unseeing, staring into the middle distance. They were dull. Lifeless.

Roman’s hands trembled as he crawled forward, attempting to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strangled sob. He cradled Logan against his chest, crying hysterically.

Logan didn’t miraculously wake up. Roman was the crown prince, bestowed with the power of prophecy, and all he could do was rock back and forth in the freezing, bloody mud and scream at the stars.

                                                     * * * * * * * * * *

“Stop playing with the sheep carcass,” Janus chided halfheartedly in Remus’s direction, washing the blood from his hands.

“You’re no fun,” Remus grumbled, plucking absently at the tendons to see the bloody hooves jerk around.

Janus shook his head, smiling softly. He watched the gray sky through the mouth of the cave, searching for a familiar dark silhouette. Virgil had never taken this long hunting before, and Janus really preferred to process all the day’s catch in one go. The quicker he could skin and butcher the rest of their food, he could finish prepping for the early winter that would soon grow into a season of endless blizzards and horrible flying conditions.

As if on cue, miniscule flakes of snow began swirling weightlessly through the air. A breeze of wintery wind slithered through the front half of the cave, curling around Janus like an icy hand cupping his face. He shivered, flaring the furnace in his chest with a rumbling hum and warming himself from the inside out, his throat glowing liquid gold beneath his skin.

“He’ll be back,” Remus assured, coming to stand next him. He hadn’t bothered to wash the sheep blood from his hands, instead content to simply lick his fingers. Janus wrinkled his nose but said nothing. It was dragons like Remus that perpetuated their stereotype of grotesque violence.

Janus still couldn’t shake the uneasy pit growing in his stomach.

At last, Virgil appeared from behind one of the many peaks hiding their home. However, Janus’s sigh of relief withered in his throat. Virgil was barely keeping himself in the air, dipping down randomly and flapping frantically, but he carried no load. Remus breathed a curse.

Janus didn’t stop to think. He sprinted out of the cave and leaped off the edge of the cliff, shifting in mid air. His massive golden wings unfurled as his body exploded in size. He was the biggest of the three of them, measuring some eighty feet long and fifty feet at the shoulder, and was at Virgil’s side after only a beat or two of his wings.

What’s wrong?! What happened? he asked frantically, but all he could sense from Virgil’s mind was pain and fear. At last, his inky black wings gave out, and he began to fall. Janus dove after him, gently securing him against his underbelly and flaring his wings out to slow their descent. He could feel Virgil’s sporadic breathing against his claws, the jet black dragon writhing weakly.

Janus was too big to fit into the cave as he was, and wouldn’t be able to get close enough to the cliff side while carrying Virgil unless he wanted to just drop him the last couple of feet. Due to his size, Janus usually had to shift in mid air and rely on the leftover momentum to carry him into the cave.

Remus! Help me! he gasped, hovering outside the cave. The muscles in his back and wing joints began to tremble from the strain of it all. Virgil might have been smaller than him, but he wasn’t exactly light either. Dragons weren’t built to carry heavy loads. The most they hauled on a regular basis were the sheep or occasional cows they caught.

Remus stepped off the cliff side, slipping easily into his other form and streaking into the sky. He was a different breed of dragon, with shorter legs, a significantly longer body, and two thread-like whiskers extending from his snout.

Most notably, Remus didn’t have wings. His kind—what was left of them, at least—wove through the air like ribbons undulating and twirling in a graceful dance. Due to the high concentration of magic in their bodies to facilitate wingless flight, they’d been hunted to near extinction for their bones and the long strip of silky fur running down their spines.

Remus came up beneath Janus, taking Virgil from him and retreating into the safety of the cave. Janus beat his wings and backed away from the mountainside before circling back around and flying straight for the opening. When he was mere seconds from crashing into the mountain, he shifted, letting the momentum carry him through the air. Janus hit the ground and rolled, springing up to his feet and rushing into the cave.

Remus shifted back, leaving Virgil laying on his side. Now, with his underbelly exposed, Janus could see the hilt of a sword protruding from between his ribs.

“Oh, Virgil,” he breathed, cautiously approaching the wounded dragon. He was in a lot of pain and could easily lash out to protect himself, regardless of who it was.

I’m sorry, Virgil managed weakly, his thoughts pulsing with pain every time he took a breath.

“Shh,” Janus hushed, inspecting the wound. Normal weapons couldn’t pierce their scales, and yet this sword had shattered them, crimson blood oozing slowly around the blade. “It’s doing more good inside you than out,” he concluded. “You’d bleed out in seconds, otherwise.”

“Who did this?” Remus growled. Janus withheld a shiver at his tone. He didn’t have to turn and look at Remus to know there was murder in his eyes. “Virgil, tell me who did this. I’ll tear them apart. I’ll skin them alive and make their children watch—”

“Remus, please,” Janus sighed.

I was hunting near the kingdom, Virgil admitted.

Janus’s blood went cold. “You what?”

“So,” Remus snarled, “it was that prince, then? Great, I’ve been wanting to tear that guy’s head off for years.”

We need the food. There’s not enough here in the mountains to last the winter, Virgil said.

“We definitely won’t survive the winter if we’re hunted down and killed, Virgil,” Janus said, exasperated. He pinched his nose and wracked his mind for a solution. Virgil was alive for now, but wouldn’t last long with an entire sword impaling his lung. “Remus, you stay here with Virgil. I’ll get some help.”

“Help? Who’s going to help us?” Remus demanded.

“Ravaging the kingdom won’t make things better, Remus. Virgil is dying.”

He folded his arms, not admitting Janus was right, but not arguing further either. Remus glared at the sword hilt with a seething rage that Janus knew no one could keep at bay for long.

He’d just have to find Emile before that happened.

“Watch him,” he said forcefully, staring Remus down. “I’ll be back soon with a healer. Don’t let him die.”

“Obviously,” Remus grumped. Janus tried for a reassuring smile, but it came out as more of a grimace than anything else. He nodded, gave Virgil one more concerned look, then ran out of the cave, launching into the snow-filled air.

[detectivedreameater]

Trust Fall || Marley and Erin

TIMING: About a week ago PARITES: @corpse--diem and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Erin gets to see Marley’s new organizational method for herself and it does not bolster confidence.  CONTENT: Head trauma, Head Injury, Seizure, Medical Talk

Buying up the entire stock of sticky notes from Took’s was probably not the greatest look, but Marley really didn’t care at this point. The cashier had given her the strangest look, and although she could’ve come up with a witty retort, she’d remained silent and matched his gaze instead. Now, her house was littered with them. Trash cans already full with old, irrelevant ones. They were tacked on walls and on the front door and even on the kitchen counters or along the railing up to her bedroom. And each of them was important to her. Little reminders of things she was supposed to know or do, time records kept of when she did things or went to close her eyes. There were even sticky notes reminding her about people, or with random thoughts she had that she was sure would slip away from her mind if she didn’t write them down. And in the middle of her office, printed out and pasted up, was the article about Lydia Griffin. Marley was sitting on her couch staring at it, as if somehow the answers to how she was feeling would reveal themselves if she looked long enough, hard enough. Maybe all the letters and words would mix themselves up and scramble into some sort of answer. Tell her that she should be angry, like her stomach felt. Tell her that it was okay to be upset, like her throat felt. Tell her it was okay to be torn, like her heart felt. But the longer she stared, the less things made sense.

When she came back into the present world, she glanced down at the sticky note on the table in front of her. It read: 12:47pm. Marley looked at her clock on her phone and it read 3:28pm. Fuck. That was so long. The gaps in her blackouts were getting longer. She stood up and the sticky note on the table reminding her that Erin was coming over at 3:30 today fluttered onto the ground. She scraped her way into the kitchen and grabbed an ice pack, pressing it to her temple when the door rattled and opened and she nearly jumped from her skin, giving a little yelp. “Jesus, Erin, you scared the shit out of me,” she grumbled, when she looked up and saw who it was. She shook her head, let out a long breath. “You...I knew you were coming over,” she said, looking away. It was clear she’d forgotten, but she didn’t want to admit it. She cleared her throat, looked back to the multitude of stickies she had around her apartment and swallowed. “Guess I just lost track of time.” Again.

Things didn’t feel entirely mended yet. It wasn’t something Erin expected to happen automatically after Marley showed up trashed on her doorstep a few weeks ago but it sure as hell wasn’t going to deter her from being a presence in her life. That spectacle had only proven Marley needed someone, now more than ever. From what she could tell, she’d pushed mostly everyone else out of her life. There wasn’t much for Erin to lose at this point. Her war with Roy and the aftermath had all but demolished what she still had. Her best friend wasn’t going to be one of them. He wasn’t going to take this away from her either. And she’d be damned if she let her idiocy and stubbornness drive Marley away either. 

There was no answer when she knocked immediately. Wasn’t a cause for concern just yet but she pulled out the spare key to Marley’s apartment anyway, trying to make as much noise as possible when she walked in. “Anyone home?” She called out, only to earn a small yelp from Marley on entrance. But that wasn’t what caught her eye. It was what caught onto her that made the most impact. She’d already stepped onto a neon pink post-it, as a few others floated off the back of the door on her way in. “Guess so…” she mumbled distractedly and out of confusion and a little bit of anxious concern, a low laugh filled the room. “I didn’t know I’d be walking in an office supply wonderland when I got here,” she teased, picking up the notes as they fell. Little notes scribbled on them--Feed JD, Keys, Lock the door--among a few of them. Oh. Erin’s smile dropped almost immediately. “How’s, uh--how’s this working out for you?”

Marley narrowed her eyes a little as she watched Erin shut the door and pick up a few of the notes that had been stuck to it. Of the ones she remembered putting up, Lock the door and Do you have your phone? Were the most prevalent, but she knew she’d pasted a few other concerning ones over there. She turned away and went over to her little fridge, pulling out two beers and setting one on the counter for Erin. She then popped open her pain pills and dumped one out. “It works better than having nothing,” she said, flipping the cap off her bottle and holding out the bottle opener for Erin, “or trying to remember to set alarms on my phone that I sleep through anyway.” She realized that nothing she was saying would build any sort of confidence in Erin that she was dealing okay with whatever was going on with her head, but she didn’t have the energy to fight or pretend anymore. She took her bottle back over to the couch and covered up a few of the more concerning notes like Did you eat this week? with little checks under it and You left Anita, DON’T CALL HER underlined about three times. “You should try it sometime.”

Erin felt the humor leave her and the concern mounting the longer Marley spoke. And when she took her pain medication with her beer right in front of Erin, she knew this—all of this—was the closest thing for a cry for help as it got with Marley. She wasn’t even trying to hide her misery.  “You know there’s way better ways to organize and remember things right?” She offered lightly, taking the beer from the counter, following her. She was by far not an expert in this, or helping people with TBIs manage their lives after their accidents. And Marley had been especially difficult, pushing away any semblance of help that came her way. But Erin had promised, she’d pushed back, and now she was here. To help. Just as she said she would. “Hey, you’ve seen my planner, right? Maybe we can get you something like that set up? One place where all of your thoughts and reminders are organized? Because this—“ she gestured toward the sticky notes around them, starting to pluck them from the various surfaces around the room. “This—is not it.”

Marley followed Erin with her eyes as she came over to the couch and sat with her. For some reason, her statements made Marley’s stomach curl and she felt that hot anger burning in her throat again. “Yeah, see-- the problem with a planner is still remembering to actually fill it out,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked away from Erin, wondering why she felt so strangely uncomfortable with her next to her. Shifted slightly. She didn’t want to still be angry at her, but she didn’t get to choose a lot of things she wanted anymore, did she? She leaned forward and plucked one of the time stamp notes she’d written and crumpled it in her hand before flicking it away. “I’m fine,” was all she said, “this is working fine.” 

It was hard not to feel that ire that rose in Marley’s words. Whether they were because of Erin or because of her own frustrations. Either way, she could understand, and she did her best to keep her temperament level. Her eyes followed the sticky note flying through the air and hit the floor, nerves starting to build in her stomach. After a long moment, she turned to Marley, finding her gaze the best she could. “You don’t seem fine,” she said quietly. It wasn’t coming from a place of judgment. Just concern. Everything she was seeing, and had noticed for weeks now, only made that fear grow more intensely. “You don’t have to be fine either, you know. I can help you if you want. You just have to let me. Even if it’s just organizing your thoughts. If there’s anything I’m good at, you know it’s organizing.”

That was apparently Marley’s last straw. Unfurling her arms, she stood up from the couch, striding away quickly. “Don’t tell me how I’m feeling, Erin!” she snapped, running her hands through her hair. She turned on her heel to glare at her, but the headache was getting worse and she pressed her palms to her eyes. “I don’t need help, okay? I just need--” she gestured around, then realized she didn’t know what she needed, words falling short, “-- I just need--” but she still couldn’t think of anything, so, instead, she turned away again and shook her head, holding her anger back as best she could. “If you just came here to patronize me, then just leave.” 

Erin startled a little when Marley jumped from the couch. She didn’t think she’d be immediately onboard to accept help, that had never been in Marley’s nature as long as she'd known her, but the outburst took her off guard. “What? No. No--I’m not trying to tell you how to feel about anything, and god no, I’m not patronizing you,” she said, shaking her head, standing slowly from the couch. “But can you honestly truly tell me you’re fine? After showing up on my doorstep after binge drinking for three days straight when your friend died, or after breaking up with Anita, or being surrounded by all of this, after everything--I just don’t understand how you can sit there and just tell me that you’re fine?”

“She’s not my--” Marley immediately snapped, but the last word wouldn’t come out, “She’s wasn’t--” she tried again, but her throat closed up once more, “We weren’t…” but her fight was already giving up. She backed away from Erin when she stood, avoiding her gaze. “Well, what the fuck else am I supposed to be, Erin?” she asked, throwing her arms out. “I’m fine because I don’t-- I don’t know how to be anything else!” Her throat felt like it was closing up, and her heart hammered in her chest. Something stung deep inside of her and she had to look away again. “I just want everything to go back to normal and I can’t do that if I’m not fine.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you are because you won’t tell me,” Erin snapped back. Of course she couldn’t force her to tell her what was going on behind her eyes, but it was just so painfully obvious things weren’t okay. Things hadn’t been okay for way too long now. Marley had every right to hate it, to want to shield herself from this difficult transition. One she knew she’d played a part in. Marley was the only reason she was still alive, standing here with just a cast on her wrist to show for it all. She stifled the emotions building in her chest, all of the guilt and pain that came with seeing her friend like this, and forced herself to temper her voice. “Things aren’t ever going to back to normal, Marley. They’re just not. I’m sorry. But the sooner you recognize and accept that, the sooner you can get to a new normal.”

“What difference would it make if you did know!?” Marley shouted back, unable to hold the pain in anymore. “Are you a fucking miracle worker? If I confess my feeling to you, can you make it all go away and feel better? Can you reverse the damage your old boss did to me?” Her anger roiled through her like a jolt and she couldn’t help but slam her palm against the wall next to her. She drew in a breath and held it for a moment, as pain pounded in her head. She was starting to get dizzy. “I don’t want a new normal! I want my old normal! I want to go back to before all of this happened! To before we were friends, to before I told Anita I wanted her-- to before all you people made me feel like I somehow deserved to be happy.” Because what a ridiculous lie that was. Marley didn’t get to be happy, that’s what life had taught her, and for those small moments where she’d decided maybe that was wrong, life had come back to teach her the exact same lesson, but harder this time. More permanent. “I don’t want whatever I am now. I don’t want--” and she gestured around wildly, to the mess of her apartment, to the sticky notes tacked everywhere, to the strained relationship between her and Erin, and she felt her eyes burning-- “this.” 

There was nothing Erin could do but let Marley yell, her frustrations and anger boiling over, overflowing into the air around them. She needed this. She deserved this. Even if Erin had never felt more helpless as she let her frustrations and hands fly, she knew all of that to be true. Even if it all stung hard and deep, like a knife point slipping between her ribs. This was what needed to happen and knowing Marley, this was the only way, loud and angrily, that she would open up. “I know, Marley. I know--if I could take any of it back so you didn’t have to go through this, I’d do it. I would have switched places with you in that warehouse in a heartbeat. I would but I can’t. All I can do is try here. All we can both do is try.” She bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head slightly. “If you’ll let me. You don’t have to, after everything, I know that but--” her jaw tightened and she could only manage a brief glance back up to Marley. “I want to be here. I want you. Okay? And not just because you’re kind of all I have left right now too. But because whether you like it or not, we’re friends. I care about you. I want you to get back to a new normal. It’s to be hard and it’s going to suck, but you can do it. If anyone can, it’s you.”

“Try what, Erin? Try what?” Marley asked, her voice already breaking. She swallowed, tried to clear her throat. She shook her head and felt it pound with each movement, rubbing her temples roughly with her palms. “Try and live like this? Try and understand why this happened? Try and understand why my best friend let me wake up alone after we were attacked and I almost died for her?” She found she could look at Erin now, a desperation in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, a look that she wasn’t even aware she was giving. “Erin...you let me wake up alone. After-- that. After I did that. After-- you-- I had no idea if you were even alive! I had no idea what had happened! Do you know how fucking scared I was? For you?” She shook her head again, the hurt evident on her face, in her eyes, as they pleaded with Erin. “ How can you-- how can you stand there in front of me and say that you want me when you let me wake up alone and afraid and terrified!?”

“Because I was afraid!” Erin snapped back. They were really doing this, right now, huh? She straightened, trying to calm herself down before continuing.  “It was shitty and I regret it but I didn’t come right away because I was afraid, okay?” Even now she could feel the shame creeping up her skin. “I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead because you tried to save me and I couldn’t face it.” She was a coward who couldn’t face the consequences of her actions, not right away, but she could admit that now. “Losing you, on top of everything I’d already lost, on top of what everyone lost in my war against that bastard? It broke me. It was too much. I dropped the ball and I will never not be sorry for it, Marley.” She could feel her throat tighten, the regret burning at her eyes at the confession. She stepped forward slowly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I’m here now. I’m here and I’m not leaving. Not again.”

“And you think I wasn’t!?” Marley balked. “I was scared out of my goddamn mind, which is saying a lot, considering half my mind is gone now!” She felt her chest heaving and suddenly she couldn’t control the white hot tears that began pouring down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry my death was that stressful to you! I just kinda thought that maybe, I don’t know-- risking my life for you would kind of outweigh that guilt. But I guess not! So, you know what? Fine. Just-- do what everyone else in my life has done and just fucking leave,” she barked, “just leave and just stay away because I can’t go through that again. I can’t do it. I can’t have someone only to lose them because it’s happened too much and I don’t want that anymore.” Her chest heaved again and she scrubbed her hands against her eyes, wiping the tears furiously away. Her tongue felt like it was going numb, suddenly. “I’m just you don’t get to this.” Wait, no...that wasn’t right. What had she just said? Marley blinked, scrunched her face, and looked over at Erin with mild confusion. 

“That’s not fair,” Erin argued weakly, almost immediately losing much of her fight the moment she heard her voice crack and the tears rolling down her face. She moved closer, shaking her head. “I fucked up. I get that. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It’s because I do. Because you’re one of the most important people in my life and I almost lost you, and after we killed Roy it--it fucked with my head. It was too much. I know that probably doesn’t make sense but please don’t push me away,” she pleaded and stood firm in her spot. “I don’t want to leave.” When Marley’s words came out contorted, she could only stare back in confusion for a few seconds, brows narrowed in her direction, concern swallowing the fear she just felt thick in her chest. “...Marley?”

Marley blinked a few more times, her head feeling heavy. The room spun and she stumbled in her spot, catching herself on the wall. It felt like someone was inflating her skull and filling it up with cement and she buried her face in one of her hands, the other braced against the wall. “It’s-- I’m-- not fair? That’s n-not fair--” but words were no longer coming to her. Her tongue felt thick in her throat. She swallowed. “I just n-need to--” started moving towards the couch, “--I just need to s-s-sit dow--” but she didn’t get to finish. In the next moment, her legs gave out, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell to the ground, convulsing. 

That same icy fear from the day in the warehouse chilled Erin to the bone as Marley fell back. This time she moved and ran towards her, their argument the farthest thing from her mind. Was this a seizure? It had to be, right? “Marley?” she called out, trying to remember how she was supposed to handle this. Panic surged through her as she watched her convulse, rising quickly in her chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” she said, even though she had no idea if that were true. Don’t touch her. She remembered that much, shoving away the furniture nearby. “I’m here. I’m here,” she repeated, kneeling down to her, her hands shaking.

The world was black for Marley, and time simply didn’t exist. She didn’t know how long she laid on the floor, convulsing, or how long it took her mind to come back to herself after she stopped, but when her eyes opened next, she was laying on her side on the floor with a pillow under her head. She blinked heavily, moaning with pain. Went to move her arms up to grab her head but they felt stiff, like styrofoam. A voice echoed into her head and she tried to look around, trying to recall what had last been happening. The voice became clearer and the figure in front of her came into view. “Erin…” she breathed, knitting her brows. “What--” she wanted to ask what happened, but by now, she knew. She stayed laying on the ground, looking up at her. “Fuck…”

There was nothing Erin could do but wait for this to pass. It was a helpless feeling and she hated it more than anything. All she could do was make Marley as safe and as comfortable as possible. That was the right call here, right? Fuck. Was she supposed to call an ambulance for something like this? Or her doctor? Fuck what was her name. Queenie? She only got as far as pulling her phone out when Marley’s voice cut through her panic. “Hey there,” she called softly, running a hand over her cheek, her eyes searching over her. “Marley? Don’t move just yet, okay? Can you hear me?” She asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice. 

Erin’s voice was uncharacteristically soft and for a moment, Marley wondered if she’d been out longer than she thought. Had she remembered incorrectly? Were they not just fighting? She reached up, stiffly, and pushed her hand away. Her head pounded like a drum, throbbing with each beat of her heart, as she laid her hand back over her own head, covering her eyes. “I can hear you,” she muttered, “I’m not deaf.” Although her ears were ringing, she wasn’t about to point that out, too. Erin sounded-- and probably looked-- freaked out enough. “Water,” she croaked, still not looking at her, “please.”

Almost as if Marley hadn’t seized right in front of her, she was pushing Erin away. Conveniently  not forgetting the fact that they had been fighting just minutes before this. About this. Her throat felt hot and thick. God, like she hadn’t felt guilty enough before, huh? She pulled her hand away but didn’t back off until she asked for water. “Sure, yeah. Water. I can do that,” she nodded, her voice still as soft and concerned as it was before. Quickly she grabbed a glass and filled it, her eyes on Marley as much as she could. “Should I call someone?” She asked, crouching to Marley’s level when she returned, still searching over her to make sure she hadn’t missed something. “Maybe Dr. Lin-King? Or—what can I do? What do you need?”

When Erin got up to get her some water, Marley lifted herself off the floor with a great effort, arms shaking. She leaned against the coffee table and put her head in her hands, trying to calm her breathing. When Erin returned, Marley didn’t look up, but she took the offered glass and had a long sip. “No,” she said shortly, “no-- you don’t need to call anyone, I--” she rubbed her head, set the water down-- her hands shook so greatly, so did the glass, and she tried her best to hide it. Started rustling through her sticky notes again, looking for her old time records. “How long did it last?” was all she asked, ignoring Erin’s offer of help. 

“Just a few minutes, I think,” Erin answered quietly, slipping down and sitting beside her. Question after question sat at the tip of her tongue, coated in a heavy mixture of concern and fear. Knew Marley would prefer if she swallowed them all, and she wouldn’t throw them all at her at once in this condition, but she wasn’t about to move on from them all either. “What are you looking for?” She asked, sitting up, leafing through some of the one sticky notes nearby. Finally, she placed a hand on top of Marley’s, holding it down. “Stop,” she insisted now, her voice firmer. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you. This isn’t a suggestion anymore.” She moved to her feet, reaching down for Marley, determined, even if she was going to fight her. She wouldn’t allow it. Not after that. “C’mon. Let’s get you to the couch.”

They were here somewhere, strewn among the papers and notes on the table-- the other notes she’d written down the other times this had happened. Marley didn’t answer Erin at first, focusing on the task at hand, but then she put a hand on top of hers and Marley almost jerked away. She turned to look over at her, but Erin was standing, now, holding her hand out for Marley to take this time. She knew what it meant, if she took the offered help. She knew that the gesture was more than just that. Marley was falling apart, right before Erin’s eyes, and she’d tried time and time again to push her away, to get her out of her life, but Erin still stuck around. She’d said those words that only Anita had said to her-- I want you. It was in a capacity Marley hadn’t known very well until she’d met Erin. Until she found herself willing to die for Erin. Accepting help meant acknowledging there was something wrong with her, but what other choice did she have at this point? All she had left in this life was this. Was Erin. 

Shakily, she reached out and took Erin’s hand. Her legs creaked with effort as she stood and made it the few steps to the couch, sinking back down. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and ran her hands through her hair again. Stayed curled up for a moment, before she let out a long breath. “I’ve been keeping track of how long they last,” she muttered, “it’s on-- it’s somewhere on the table.” When she looked back up, she found Erin’s gaze-- it was full of fear and worry and confusion and Marley felt her chest squeeze again. “I don’t want this to be my new normal,” she whispered quietly. 

Whether it was purely exhaustion or Marley’s way of accepting Erin’s help, for once, the relief that flooded her when she finally allowed her to walk her the few steps to the couch was unparalleled. She understood she was mad. Understood that there was validity to Marley’s stubbornness. Didn’t change the fact that this was Marley’s new normal. She needed help, if not from her, then someone else, but this wasn’t a point Marley could argue out of anymore. Deep down, Marley knew it too. She shuffled through the sticky notes, temporarily ignoring the nonchalant way Marley spoke about it. Clearly it was a regular occurrence and she hated that she was just finding this out. “Jesus Christ, Marley,” she mumbled to herself, shaking her head, the anger in her voice stemming from a very real fear. When she found the sticky note with numbers scribbled across it, her throat dried. “Marley…” she glanced over at her. “This isn’t--you can’t just--” The words weren’t coming. They were there, stuck in her throat, clogged with frustration and worry. “Marley, I’m sorry. I know. I don’t want this for you either but this is your new normal and you can’t be doing this. I don’t--I don’t know what to do but you can’t keep living like this.” 

The anger in Erin’s voice came from a place that Marley didn’t entirely recognize. It wasn’t anger out of pain or hate or rage-- it was out of worry. Concern. Fear. Marley could feel it, the fear circling Erin’s stomach. She scrunched her face together for a moment and chewed on her lip, looking at the note Erin had found but not taking it. She swallowed thickly-- she didn’t have words for whatever it was she was feeling right now, but she knew it wasn’t normal. Something deep inside of her felt as if it were clawing its way out, up her esophagus and into her mouth. It made her throat itch and her tongue feel like sandpaper and the inside of her mouth tasted like metal. “Do you wish you’d never done it?” she asked quietly, not acknowledging the questions-- the concerns-- about her state of living quite yet. “Started this thing with Roy? Do you ever wish you’d just...kept your head down?” 

Erin stiffened, her question throwing her off guard, immediately looking anywhere but Marley. Mouth opening, gaping like she wanted to answer her but nothing came, and she closed it again, stirring uncomfortably in her seat. “Sometimes,” she finally spoke. Didn’t think, just spurt out whatever came to mind first. Marley asked because she wanted honesty here, right? So that’s what she’d give her. “I thought I knew what I was going into, you know. I knew it was going to take chunks out of me. That it was going to take more than it gave. But I didn’t expect to take everything.” She paused, leaning forward onto her knees, running a hand down her cheek and through her hair. “It took everything. And not just from me.” She shook her head. But what were her other options? Live in fear of the law, toiling in the basement and handing off human remains for cash until the day that Roy decided he was done with her and gave her the same fate as Dale? She exhaled hard, shaking her head, fidgeting with her fingers. “I don’t know. I can’t change it now. I just know that I have to keep going or I’m letting a wishful fantasies I can’t do anything about destroy me.” She looked pointedly at Marley at that one. “It’s all any of us can do now.”

Marley listened to Erin’s words and let them sit in her stomach. Let what she was saying try and settle inside of her. There was an anger that kept trying to consume everything she said and turn it inside out and spit it back up. Step on. Set it on fire. But she was tired of the burning, and the pain and the anger. She was tired of being alone. Even if it hurt, even if she still didn’t fully trust Erin, everything she was saying was right-- Marley needed help. She was letting herself die and that-- that wasn’t what she wanted. “You didn’t...lose everything,” she mumbled quietly, not looking at Erin as she scooted her hand over and put it on top of one of Erin’s. “I’m still mad...about a lot, but you’re wrong.” She wasn’t sure what in her had changed-- maybe it was the fear in Erin’s voice of losing Marley that made her realize that she wasn’t alone, even if she wanted to be-- but something had, and there wasn’t any going back now. “I don’t regret starting this, and I don’t think you should, either. I’m-- I wish none of this had ever happened, I don’t want to be this way, but that doesn’t mean I, you know…” she rubbed her head with her free hand, “I just...all I can feel right now is anger, and I don’t want to be angry at you anymore. You’re all I have left now.”

Erin took her hand when she placed it on hers and squeezed. She wasn’t sure if it was totally reassuring that Marley wanted her there because she was the only thing she had left. Wasn’t a great feeling, but it was better than being alone, and the promise of mending their friendship wasn’t just a pipedream. It’d be hard and it’d take time but all last things were worth that kind of fight. Maybe there was something down the line that would assure her that the one for her freedom would be worth it too. “You’re kind of all I have now too,” she said quietly, a small sad smile lifting the corner of her lips. “It’s not the kind of thing you can rush and you have your reasons--valid ones--but I’d be pretty okay with you not being mad at me anymore either.” She gently nudged her shoulder, trying to keep ahold of the sobering relief that made her eyes water and her composure waver. “I miss you,” she said quietly, her eyes drawing back up to hers.

“Yeah,” Marley muttered with a hint of bitterness, “I miss me, too.” But she left it at that, because the exhaustion of being angry, of just having had a seizure, was taking over her and she had little fight left. Still-- there were things that needed to be said here, if they were going to try and mend whatever this was. Sighing, she shifted enough to look over at Erin, her eyes red and heavy lidded with her weariness. “I don’t know if I fully trust you,” she said, her voice hoarse, “it’s not something that I think will be...easy to fix. I’m angry about so much, Erin, and I think it’s because I-- because you meant so much more to me. I don’t know how to explain it, I’m not good with--” she gestured between them, “--this kind of stuff.” She took a brief pause. “And I know I’m upset with you about something else, too, but I can never remember exactly why and then that just makes me angry as well, and-- it’s this stupid vicious cycle and I just want my fucking mind back.” She felt the prickle of hot tears again but quickly blinked them away. “If you want to help me, then I need you to-- I need help feeling normal again. Whatever that might be now, I just want…” her voice simmered to a small breath, choking, “...I just need something normal.”

It was hard to hear but these were all the things that needed to be said, needed to be put out into the open if they were ever going to get past this. “This is one of the first steps to getting to some sort of normal. A healthier normal,” Erin pointed out, then added, “I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not super great at this either, honestly.” But of all the people who were hurt and disappointed by her, it cut differently with Marley. Marley, who’d been her right hand through the last six months. Who’d encouraged her to fight and who’d kept her safe until the bitter end. She couldn’t lose this. She took a breath, unable to meet her eyes now, preparing herself to throw that last issue eluding Marley onto the pile. If she had learned anything from the last six months, she knew the only way out was through. “You were upset with me about Nic. I didn’t tell you he was a hunter.” She reached for the long forgotten beer on the table and took a hearty sip.

Oh. Their entire argument came crashing back into Marley’s mind like she’d been dropped from a thousand feet in the air. Immediately, she wanted to yell again. But instead, she drew in a deep breath, counted to ten, and let it out slowly, removing her hand from Erin’s grasp finally. “Right,” she muttered, “I remember now.” The frustration Marley had felt when she’d found out writhed its way through her body again, racing down her arms and into her fingertips. She felt them tingle and leaned back on the couch, running them through her hair. “He’s gone now, though, so I guess it doesn’t fucking matter, does it?” They’d both lost their partners-- although Anita was Marley’s fault, it had still happened all the same. She looked sideways over at Erin. “I could try and explain it to you, but I just don’t think you’d ever understand.” 

Erin felt the frustration from that argument return, and a sharp stab of anger from her words jolted her upright. “It matters,” she insisted, gripping the back of her neck. It was another complicated fucking issue but it mattered. They hadn’t argued for nothing. “I should have told you, I know, and maybe I won’t be able to understand, but he—“ the words caught in her throat, made her chest tight. She already hated talking about this. “He knew other supernaturals. His roommate was a selkie and he was friends with a zombie. I’m not saying your fears weren’t valid or undeserved but he wasn’t a threat. To you or anyone. I’m not that stupid. I just need you to understand that too.”

“I won’t,” Marley said, frowning, “I can’t understand that. Because you’re wrong.” To Marley, that wasn’t an opinion, it was a fact. “I get that not all hunters are the same, and sure, some of them might even not hunt-- but they’re all dangerous to people like me. No matter what they say or what you believe. And that’s what you don’t get, Erin,” she said, her tone wavering between trying to stay even and sticking with anger. With fear. “If I’d hurt the wrong person, or done just one wrong thing, can you really tell me, with one-hundred percent certainty that he wouldn’t take action? Or that he wouldn’t ask someone else to? Just because he was friends with other supernaturals doesn’t mean he isn’t a danger. It’s the same reason people like me can never trust white people in grocery stores, or straight people in rural back countries. You can at least relate to that last one a little, can’t you?” Sighing, she ran her hand over her face. “I’m not-- I wasn’t upset because he was a hutner, though. I--” she licked her bottom lip anxiously, “--I was upset-- I am upset-- because I just wanted you to believe me and not try and, I don’t know...excuse it. But I get it, okay? He was good to you. You can’t...see it the way I see it, and I can’t see it the way you do. So, no-- it doesn’t matter.” 

Erin felt herself sink further into the couch. She didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want to think about him, even in this context. It made her heart hurt in a way she hadn’t felt before and she lifted her hand to her chest, subconsciously rubbing at her sternum, as if it would help alleviate some of the pressure. “I believe you,” she finally said after a long, quiet moment. She had no interest in discrediting or excusing away her fear and she felt terrible when she realized how it came off to Marley.  “I’m sorry. I wish I could understand this all better, and with time maybe I will. I’m trying.” She shrugged one shoulder, heaving a long breath as she fidgeted with the bottle in her hand. “I don’t know how he’d react. He only hunted for money. Because he was good at it. It was all he knew, it was how he was raised. But it was never personal. And who was I to judge him when I was culling out half of the bounties he took, you know?” It was weird and complicated and shady. That was her normal. Had been her normal, anyway. She shook her head again, exhaustion seeping through her, but her words were genuine, even if she couldn’t meet her eyes still. Her chest still ached. “This is hard and I’m still getting used to this, and I don’t mean to sound ignorant. With this stuff I just—I am.”

All Marley understood was that talking about Anita hurt, and, therefore, Erin having to talk about Nic probably did, too. Especially when she noticed her rub at her chest. A pang of guilt ran through her, and though she would not take back what she said, she felt bad for addressing it, even if Erin was the one who brought it up. She reached for the glass of water again and took a sip, before curling her knees up to her chest on the couch. Wrapped her arms around them tightly. “I don’t want you to have to understand this fear, Erin. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone.” Her face drew in concern, a deep, hidden fear clouding her eyes. “That first time someone looks at you like you’re nothing, like you don’t deserve to live--” she shuddered, laying her head on her knees, “--and you’re just a child, but they don’t care. They want to kill you, because your eyes glow red at night, or because you have fangs, or wings, or turn into a wolf during the full moon.” Her words trailed off and she went quiet. “I hope you never have to know what that feels like.” It was one of the only things Marley had ever been afraid of in her life. “We don’t have to talk about him anymore,” she muttered into the thick silence between them, “I know it hurts.” 

“I’m sorry. That you had to go through that,” Erin said quietly after Marley spoke. “God that’s--that’s fucking awful. You didn’t deserve that.” Not that she had a lot of room to talk. A year ago she would’ve agreed wholeheartedly with the hunter. Kill the scary fucking demon with red-eyes. It had to be dangerous, right? She learned how wrong she was, of course. Not all monsters were evil and not all hunters were right. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Fuck, she still had so much to figure out here. She also knew there wasn’t much she could say to make it better, and instead reached out, taking one of Marley’s hands again, tentative and gentle. She was right though. It did hurt. Everything about this conversation hurt, to be fair. She sat back against the couch, letting her head loll against the back of it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” Her head popped up again suddenly. “Are you sure there’s nothing we’re supposed to be doing after--that.” She looked at her head, nodding towards it. 

“I still go through it,” Marley pointed out, “every day.” And not that she’d ever admit it, but even just knowing that Kaden was a hunter scared the shit out of her. At any moment, he could decide she was too much of a danger and come after her. She didn’t think he would, but that fear was always there-- would always be there. And it was that way with Nic, too. And any hunter. All hunters. She fidgeted with Erin’s fingers for a moment. “It was just a seizure,” she mumbled, leaning back on the couch and dropping her legs finally. She let out a long breath before scooting closer to Erin and leaning her head against her shoulder. “I’m so fucking tired,” she mumbled, “all the time.” God, she’d missed this. Maybe not specifically with Erin, just...this. Being next to someone. Feeling someone else’s warmth, someone else’s presence, their weight anchoring Marley to reality, reminding her she was real. She missed not being alone. It was her own damn fault she’d been so alone and she fucking hated it. “There’s nothing to do afterwards. Just...monitor and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

There was a silence that fell over the room, thick and heavy. Everything was out in the open now, and they’d talked and argued until they’d exhausted themselves, it seemed. Emotions and grievances were heavy like that. They’d carried them, and though their shoulders weren’t burdened with such a heavy load anymore, the damage had been done. They were on their way to healing and it was becoming clear that this wouldn’t all be fixed in one night. There was a long road yet to go but this time Erin was prepared. It was worth it. She ran her thumb over the back of Marley’s hand, nodding. “What do you say we take a pause?” She suggested hopefully. “It’s getting late and we’re both tired and there’s no way we can work through everything tonight.” She gave a small, brief smile, trying to thin out some of that heaviness. “But if you want to keep going, I’m going to need to make some coffee.”

The motion was soothing, even if it was just small circles on the back of her hand. Marley glanced down at their hands, her eyes weary, and watched silently for a moment. The heaviness between them felt a little bit lighter now, but there was still something thick for them to wade through. But something had been mended tonight-- maybe not trust, maybe not friendship, but something. Enough of something for them to work back towards what they had before. Enough of something to rebuild. That was enough for now, it had to be. It was all they had left, after all, and without each other, they’d have nothing. Maybe that wasn’t exactly the most healthy mindset, but Marley needed something to focus on and keep herself grounded. Something to keep her from losing every part of herself. And maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to get back some of the parts she’d lost. “Let’s just watch a movie,” she mumbled, motioning to the remote sitting on the coffee table, on top of another stack of sticky notes. “We can talk later.”

[skittydolly]

paz would be the guy who tries really really hard to not get mad when someone's flirting with din, but the second the person touches his arm he's suddenly behind din like, "yes hello i am the HUSBAND thank you very much fuck off."

❤ Read It On AO3 ❤

To Have (The Mandalorian - Paz Vizla/Din Djarin, NSFW)

Things had gone rather quiet by the time they made it back to the ship.

Paz supposed it was better than an argument. He also supposed Din silently wanted him to sulk to the fresher and think about what he’d done while he washed the blue blood off his gloves. He hadn’t particularly meant to start an entire fight in a seedy bar on this backwater planet. He didn’t think he’d decked the Twi’lek that hard until blood came gushing from his nose. He didn’t expect another to tackle him behind. He really hadn’t meant to lob them into a table, which splintered in two on impact, thus sending another gents’ rum to go flying and another few fists coming at him.

It all seemed to escalate from there.

In the red haze, Paz didn’t even know where Din was. He had a Devaronian under each arm, knocking their heads together and when he chanced a glance up, his cyar’ika stood at the entrance of the bar, arms crossed, helmet tilted at him in that cute little way, and hip cocked as he leaned against the door frame. Paz was distracted enough that a wooden chair came crashing over his back.

The cocking sound of a loaded pulse rifle had everyone ducking for cover.

The entire bar went silent. By the time Paz looked up, everyone was cowering behind what was left of booths and chairs. Din had his blaster trained steadily on the patron who was now shaking at the knees behind Paz, raising his hands for mercy. Paz raised himself slowly, dusting himself off and making a point to shove aside that handsy Twi’lek on the floor with his boot as he passed him. He was out the door, Din turned on his heel and followed him.

Paz’ blood was boiling still. Had he hackles, they’d be raised beneath his armor. His blood soaked gloves were clenched at his sides, his shoulders tight, and his breathing was just coming back from its ragged state. He could vaguely hear Din following behind him, but he didn’t have the courage to look back. A bar room brawl he could handle, having to make visor to visor contact with his partner at the moment.. That was a little more than terrifying.

And here they were.

Back on the Razor Crest, Paz had quickly made off to the fresher. He removed his vambraces and shed his bloodied gloves, throwing them under the tap and tossing in some detergent to wash them. He could hear Din’s soft footsteps approaching and Paz tried not to grumble out his frustrations in his presence. The younger Mandalorian paused at the doorway, his rasped, gentle voice making Paz tense. “You know better,” Din merely hummed, letting his head rest against the edge of the door frame. Paz chanced a look over his shoulder before hunching into himself again and scrubbing a little harder until the blue tint in the water faded down the drain.

“How often would that happen?” Paz grunted back, his brows furrowing beneath his helmet. He honestly didn’t want to know the extent at which Din was flirted with during his travels alone, but the question burned at the back of his mind. “Often enough,” Din answered nonchalantly and Paz whipped around to look at him, his ebbing fury coming back with a vengeance, but Din didn’t seem to pay any mind. “No being in this universe has any right to speak to you like that,” the heavy gunner all but growled, shutting off the faucet and leaving his gloves on the edge to dry after he wrung them out.

“Not even you?”

The question hung in the air and Paz breathed out a heavy sigh. As he dried his wet hands, he could feel Din press up behind him, his arms coming to wrap around Paz’ front, deft fingers tracing the hard lines of his armor and pressing their way between gaps to reach his soft spots. “N-No,” Paz cursed his stutter, “No, not even me.” Din chuckled lightly behind him and Paz could feel his entire body unwind, hanging his head and bringing his bare hands up to hold over Din’s roaming ones.

“They’re usually talking about the armor.”

“You sure about that?” Paz hissed, but attempted to cool his anger again, grumbling as he turned around and leaned down to bump his forehelm firmly to Din’s. “He certainly was talking about this tiny little waist of yours.” His large hands cupped almost entirely around the circumference of Din’s waist as if to prove a point. “Covered head to toe and still can’t catch a break, can you?” he huffed, but he was delighted to hear the rare little snicker from under Din’s helmet, a crooked smile quirking his lips beneath his own.

“I suppose not.”

Paz went quiet at that, resting the cheek of his helmet to the top of Din’s, holding him close as they swayed slowly in the middle of their fresher as if they hadn’t just come from a bar fight. “You were quite merciful, cyare,” Din hummed. Paz pulled back to look at him with a tilt of his head, but Din simply rested his helm to Paz’ chest and continued. “I’d have broken his arm in three places, crushed all his fingers and then shattered his nose.”

Paz had never a doubt in his mind of his feelings for Din before, but in that moment, he’s never felt so in love.

He was quite embarrassed at how every nerve ending in his body lit up in pure adoration. He let Din guide him back, his shoulders bumping the far wall of the fresher. He swallowed hard when those gentle hands began to roam again, stroking over his sides, up his arms and to the sides of his neck. Paz didn’t mean to shudder so hard when gloved fingers tugged down the high collar of his black shirt, the worn material at Din’s thumbs brushing the thick cords of his neck while the rest of those careful digits kneaded firmly at his nape.

“U-Umm-” again with the stuttering, “Had I known me being possessive was a kink of yours, I would have publicly defended your honor a lot sooner..” Another of those raspy chuckles made Paz’ thighs lock involuntarily. “While I appreciate you letting me fight my own battles, it’s nice to watch you flex your muscles once in a while without fearing for your life.” It was Paz’ turn to chuckle, finding his confidence again as his big hands shifted under Din’s cloak to cup firmly at his ass, nestling a thick thigh between the younger’s legs. He certainly was not expecting this tonight.

“There you go exposing your fetish for me tossing my weight around.”

That earned him a thumb jabbed firmly into a pressure point in his neck. Paz’ knees immediately buckled, his bracers numbing the hard drop to the floor, but he paid absolutely no mind to that. Even kneeling, Paz still reached just below Din’s chest. The overhead lighting cast a shadow over the both of them and Paz will never witness anything else so beautiful than his cyare. A rumbling purr erupted from him when those careful fingers cupped under his chin, feeling along the sharp line of his jaw beneath his helmet and scratching gently at his scruff.

“The longer I’m with you, the more fetishes I seem to develop,” Din joked and Paz knew the man was actually allowing himself to indulge in his pleasures tonight. It was a sight to see this feared Mandalorian so unusually playful, it was something Paz took for granted when they were younger. To witness it now was absolutely ethereal and he had no qualms in encouraging that behavior. The heavy gunner licked his smirking lips, his hand traveling up Din’s leg and kneading his thumbs at the juncture of his thigh.

“I can see that,” he cooed, deliberately avoiding the hardness tenting his partner’s pants and making his hips squirm. Paz nuzzled his helm to Din’s chest, the younger’s hands returning to his shoulders where he dug his fingers into his muscles tightly. “Sweet little boy,” he purred, immediately feeling a twitch against his fingers, “My sweet little boy. Mine.. No one else’s..” He felt Din’s full body shudder through his palms, the way his hips tensed and his legs spread.

“That’s what you want to hear?” he asked quietly, looking up to catch Din nod his head hard. Paz chuckled, dipping his head down and nuzzling the cheekplating of his helm to Din’s straining bulge. The younger man gasped, his hands tightening into the material of Paz’ shirt he could reach. “Use your words, Din’ika,” Paz sighed, his hands shifting to cup Din’s backside, pulling him close and letting him rut himself against the cool metal of his helm.

“Y-Yes..” he sounded positively breathless and Paz groaned roughly.

“I don’t own you..” he hummed, “I never will.” Din’s heartbroken little whimper made his heart clench momentarily, but he squeezed his hands around him and nestled back up to look at him, visor to visor, piercing and unyielding. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t try..” The hunter above him gasped, his arms shifting to brace himself against the wall, watching Paz lean back so he could see those thick, bare fingers, bruised knuckles brush against the tented fabric of his pants and pull him out, precum coating his palm as he coiled around it, pumping his cock at a maddeningly leisure pace.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t spend the rest of my days marking your skin with my teeth,” Paz growled, his free hand massaging tenderly at Din’s trembling thighs. “Doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop dreaming of the day we’re bonded. Thinking of being the only one in the universe who has the honor of seeing your face.” Paz chuckled when he heard Din’s helm thump against the wall, twisting his fist around his cyare’s cock, thumb circling his slit and purring as he watched him fuck into the grip.

“No one else..” Paz snarled, dark blue eyes dazed with lust beneath his visor. “No one else gets to see you writhe in pleasure, make you feel the way I do. No one should ever talk to you the way I do, but only I can because you allow me to. You want me to praise you. You want me to tell you all the things I could do with you because you’re mine and I belong to you, too.”

“Paz-” Din’s voice brought him out of his haze, looking up and wishing he could see how sweet that expression must look across his cyar’ika’s face, how desperate. He traced the veins along his length, squeezing as he dropped down to the base, keeping the hunter’s hips still with his other hand. “Close your eyes,” Paz ordered softly, not even sure he said it until Din piped out a confused little sound. Paz swallowed hard.

“Close your eyes and don’t look down, cyar’ika.”

Din didn’t question. His visor was immediately buried in his forearms which were rested against the wall. Paz trusted him with his life, this wasn’t any different. He tilted his helmet up. “Give me one of your hands,” he ordered once more, physically seeing the way Din’s body tensed at the sound of his voice free from his modulator. He grasped Din’s hand, bringing it to the blocky audial of his helmet to hold it up so the bottom edge rested hard at the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t find the mind to care.

“Keep it in place, baby, don’t let it go.”

The garbled whine of affirmative from Din made Paz throb behind his codpiece, groaning lowly. “That’s a good boy, Din,” he cooed, smirking as he pressed a blind kiss to the tip of his cock. Din nearly crumbled above him just at that. Paz dragged his tongue across the side of his shaft, sucking kisses to the velvety skin while his tongue explored, occasionally drawing back to mumble, love drunk against him. “You’re so good. My perfect little soldier.” Another wet kiss to his tip, slick dripping against his lips, delicious moans making his ears hot.

“You’re all I could ever want,” he whispered. “I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Don’t hold back.” A broken cry was wrought from Din as Paz swallowed him entirely. His cock hit the back of his throat and Paz could feel Din’s hand scrambling at his helmet to keep it in place as ordered. He hummed lowly, bobbing his head, hollowing his cheeks in slow sucks at every pull back. Din didn’t let the pace stay slow for very long.

Paz could feel the strain in his hips, he wanted to buck and Paz could only encourage him, both of his hands going up and squeezing tightly at his ass to tug him forward. The raw sound from Din had Paz’ hips bucking involuntarily. The younger fucked desperately into Paz’ mouth, thick and throbbing on his tongue. “Paz- Cyare-” he called weakly and Paz’ purr had him whining, muffled in the bend of his arm where his visor was diligently kept. “‘M gonna cum.. F-Fuck, Paz, please- W-Wait- Please, please” he choked and Paz encouraged him with a firm suck. “Want you to see me- Want you to watch me.. I-I’m yours, I’m yours-”

That nearly set Paz off.

He groaned roughly as he pulled back, licking his lips before shoving his helmet back down, both arms curling around Din’s legs and taking them out from under him. Din didn’t complain as he was laid back against the hard floor, partially in Paz’ lap as the heavy gunner sat up and loomed over him, Din’s legs spread to either side of his chest. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he crooned, voice worn, hand coming down to finish what he started.

“Tell me I’m yours-” An order.

Paz smirked, knocking their forehelms together and staring deeply into that dark visor as he pumped at Din’s drenched cock. “You’re mine, Din. You’re mine, you’ll be my riduur. We’ll be bonded and I’ll fuck you properly, cyar’ika. F-Fuck, baby- Spread you open on my cock and make you mine.” Paz shuddered when Din’s hands shot out to reach for him, his hips writhing in Paz’ hands. The larger man indulged him, shoving aside his codpiece and hastily undoing his zipper to pull his cock from the confines of his pants.

Din lifted his upper body off the hard floor, one hand clutching Paz’ armored shoulder for leverage and the other curling, tight fisted around Paz’ cock. The larger man groaned, thumping their helms again and just trying to breathe. It was just like before, the time in the forest those few weeks after reuniting, but this was so much more intense. His head spun, blue eyes going dazed again under his visor when that pretty voice made itself known, his free hand cupping the back of his lover’s head to keep him steady.

“I want you to cum inside me. Wanna be marked up.. Claimed.. Fucked full and bred.. Want you to own me.” Paz stroked his thumb tenderly at the crown of Din’s helm, wishing instead that his fingers were gently carded through his soft, dark hair. “You’re not makin’ it any easier to wait when you’re talkin’ like that, beautiful...” A soft whimper, a sharp throb through his cock as he was eagerly pumped.

“I can’t wait much longer, cyare..”

Paz’ heart ached, but he pressed forward. “I know, cyar’ika, I know,” he cooed comfortingly, “But it will be worth it.” He eased Din back again, getting his own legs out from under him and watching how Din arched his hips up to keep him close, their cocks grinding together as Paz rocked them with slow, but firm thrusts. “It’ll be worth getting to see your pretty face, see you all flushed for me, begging for my cock.. Begging me to fill you with my cum and breed you deep, sweet boy...”

Din was broken below him, crying out in pleasure, throwing both of his arms over Paz’ shoulders, curling him close as Paz took both their slick cocks into his large fist. “That’s what you want, Din?” he panted, thrusting his hips roughly to stimulate the primal sensation they both craved. “Y-Yes-! Fuck me- Paz, cyare- Mine-” he cried, desperate and wanting and Paz let him have his release. Din’s head fell back with a high whine, his body convulsing, hips snapping into Paz’ fist as he came hard, spilling over his armored chest and tummy.

Paz could only hold out for so long, the sight beneath him so incredibly raw and beautiful it sent him over with a pleasured roar only a few seconds after. His heavy cock throbbed, thick ropes of cum painted across Din’s body, claiming him, marking him just like he wanted. Paz doubled over when he went light-headed, bracing himself on his forearms over Din who hugged him tightly to his chest, his lean legs stretching over Paz’ hips to rest comfortably. Through his attempt to catch his breath, Paz brought a hand up, tugging down Din’s own high neck and turning his cyare’s helm away.

He lifted his own again slightly, enough to sink his teeth into Din’s fluttering pulsepoint, groaning as Din’s languid writhing made their oversensitive cocks brush together. “Kiss me,” he heard rasped above him and he waited only a moment for Din to comfortably shift his helmet up. They learned to maneuver in a careful dance, their lips pressing, eyes blind behind thick beskar in such an intimate moment. It made Paz’ heart beat a little faster each time.

“I waited a decade for you before, I can wait a little longer, cyare..” Din whispered against Paz’ lips, voice wavering and broken, but oh so genuine. The older man kissed him firmly once more, dipping his bare fingers beneath Din’s helm to thread his fingers carefully into the soft locks at his nape. When their helmets came back down simultaneously, Paz immediately pressed them together, gathering Din in his arms and lifting him off the floor to clean him up for bed, humming quietly against his audial.

“I’d wait an eternity for you, ner cyar’ika.”

- Dolly 🎀

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Five: Honey Bear and Tony to the Rescue 

Thank you to everyone who has been reading. Here is day six of Whumptober: "Stop Please" and our 6th chapter of this story. It's a day late in my posting schedule but I finished the rough draft of all the chapters so it should be regular from now on.

warning: mentions of character death

Chapter Six: Dreams

There were leather restraints around his wrists connecting to the wall behind him. Peter was in the center of the room, about five steps from the door, but it could have been a million miles and it wouldn’t have made any difference. If there was no lock and the door was opened wide, he wouldn’t have left.

Smoke filtered through the gaps and crevices in the walls. It snacked on along the ground, gaining momentum and building higher. Peter got to his legs and tried to stand on the cement seat under him but the cuffs restricted his movement. The smoke climbed higher and higher, and he strained his face up to the cleaner air but every breath added a new layer thick smog coating his lungs. His eyes watered and his throat closed. He was so lightheaded he fainted, his arms were behind him tugging on the restraints. Peter fell into darkness.

He was floating. No, he was falling. Air breezed around him. Its gusts billowed through his clothes and into his skin. The temperature of this weightless atmosphere chilled him to the bone. The ground rose up to greet him; fast until nothing could stop it. His arms flailed around. He tried to grab onto something but he was alone. They moved forward in hopes of bracing his fall and Peter’s breath was knocked out of him on impact. With a groan he curled into himself. It was a pitiful attempt to protect himself. He blinked and the emptiness was gone.

Peter was lying on the floor in his living room. Footsteps moved down the hallway slow and heavy. He sat up, sending stars in his vision, and moved away from the intruder as fast as he could. His back collided with the couch but he forced himself to still.

May walked in with a bowl of popcorn in her hands.

“What are you doing down there, sweetheart?” She said indicating with a nod his crouched position on the floor.

The air caught in his chest at her appearance. She came over to him, sitting the popcorn down on the small coffee table and grabbing the controller. Instead of moving back to the couch, May sat next to him on the floor before grabbing the popcorn back. She passed him the bowl; it was just salty enough and flavor combined with the orange juice that appeared on the coffee table perfectly. Her eye brows furrowed when he missed whatever she said to him. He was too busy staring at her.

Peter reached out. His hand hovered over her skin before he pressed it against her cheek; eyes widening at the warmth that felt real. His vision blurred with forming tears but before she could see his wonder he closed his eyes. If he could remember the smile on her face as she walked into the room and spied him on the ground he would be forever grateful to whatever this torture was.    

Her skin turned cold under his hand and the air grew dense. It pressed against him, weighing so heavy on his hand he was tempted to take it off her cheek. But he couldn’t let that happen. She would be gone again if he did and so he held on.

Gravity turned and he was lying on the ground again. Apprehension tickled his mind but he opened his eyes and found himself next to May. Her expression wasn’t anything like he knew before. May’s eyes were dull with glassy smog hiding them. She was on the ground with her hand tucked under her body. The base of her arms sitting in a pool of dark liquid. His hand, still resting on the side of her face, was covering something lumpy and there was a sticky material connecting them. It was the same liquid on the ground. He pulled his hand away. The bodies temperature was cold and there was maroon stained on his palm. It dribbled out of the perforated wound on the side of her head. This was not the May he was trying to remember.

“No.” He screamed out, fisting his other knuckles into his mouth. “Please… Please, stop.”


He didn’t know who he was yelling at or if they would hear. Fresh wounds of grief tore into his chest and the yelling helped numb him. He screamed again. Peter became an outlet for the emotions welling inside of him. Incoherent words and noises tumbled out of his mouth until his throat seized and he was voiceless against the pain.

Something landed on his shoulder.

Rhodes was staring at him from beside the bed. He opened his eyes with the dream with on his mind. His hand tingled and he scrambled up. Peter pushed the covers down, ignoring the sweat stains on them and stared at his palm. There was no trace of blood. It was truly just a dream.

His hands fell beside him and he stared at the wall.

The torrent residing in him spoke to more than a dream. They were almost memories and he lost himself in them; welcomed the searing burn as they trickled out of the corners of his mind. Rhodes continued to sit next to him without speaking. He placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and the weight brought him back to reality, back to the blue room.

The correct course of action would be to politely shake the hand off, thank the man, and be done with it. It wasn’t right to take comfort from strangers, to burden them with problems that weren’t their own. You could be sitting right next to someone but be worlds away when it mattered.

But then Peter remembered his fourteenth birthday. He’d been a freshman in high school and like middle school, the odd man out. He had no friends to speak of, ate in the bathroom enough to have concern for the hygiene of doing so, and rode the subway there and back alone. Second semester rolled around and they changed seat partners in biology. He was partnered with a kid named Ned. He was a talker and throughout their classes he drew Peter in.

More often than not they finished with their labs earlier than their classmates. The term was ending. On that day, Peter was preoccupied with his coming birthday and how it landed in summer. He would have to do it then and there. Peter glanced at Ned under his eye lashes and grasped the table with his hands. Ned continued to chat away about how Peter should join some club he was in after school. He wore an easy smile. It never failed to make him feel warm and although they only knew each other through school, Peter couldn’t help but want to see if they could become real friends.

“Hey, uh, Ned. Do you maybe want to hang out? And-and want to come over for cake in August?”

Ned smirked as they began packing their bags.

���Is this a roundabout way of inviting me to your birthday? I know it’s August10th.”

“How do you- Oh, Mr. Harrington’s board, right?”

“Yep and I’ve been wanting to ask if you were doing something for the longest time. I just didn’t know how.” He said rubbing the back of his neck before chuckling. “So, this is great. Be warned my mom makes the best cassava cake and I’ll probably bring enough for an army.”

Peter couldn’t wait to tell May. True enough, a month and many hangouts outside of school later, Ned arrived carrying two plates of the delicious cake. His family sat around him. They sang much to his embarrassment and he and Ned shared a look at May’s attempts to document the whole night with her camera.

Later, tucked away in their sleeping bags they whispered about their summer plans and the distant school year. It was quiet for a moment; the air full between them and Peter couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Ned turned around to face him. Peter mimicked the action, tucking his elbow to prop his head up.

“Hey Peter.” He said.

“Hey Ned.”

“I wanted to say thanks man, for inviting me. I know it’s not cool to say and all, but I’d been thinking all winter semester how to ask you to hang out and never got out the nerve. I’m, uh, really glad we’re friends.”

Ned smiled again and turned over. Peter swallowed. He scooted his bedding closer and with un unsure hand he reached to rest of on Ned’s shoulder. His friend’s muscles relaxed with a sigh and Peter closed his eyes in sleep.

The air in the blue bedroom was not full of blossoming friendship like it had been that night many years ago. Peter’s muscles were tense under Rhodes’ hand. His energy unwelcoming to the man’s help. But still he remained next to him providing a lifeline away from his dreams and memories.

He had butterflies in his stomach before reaching out to Ned. He could also remember his friend’s bashful smile under the Christmas lights in his room. Peter wondered if Rhodes was feeling the same nervous vulnerability of reaching out to someone new even though he was an adult. And he knew how Ned felt. The same sense of appreciation made him fidget for this stranger next to him.

In the cold hours of the morning, nightmares and memories all mangled in his mind, Peter didn’t feel alone for the first time in a long time. He stared out at the lake, barely visible through the gaps in the curtains, and admired the desolate environment. The wind blew moving the snow around and a bush still with bits of green sat unswayed by the cold.

“Thank you.” He whispered into his pillow. He knew the man heard by the gentle squeeze following his words.

Thank you!

Next Chapter Seven: He’s Warming up to Them